I Think We've Met
by Color With Marker
Summary: Slight LOST theme. Eight adults, mostly strangers, are living their own lives in NYC. Then something mysterious happens to make them all remember each other in a way they'd never imagined.
1. Chapter 1

_**(A/N: This is a notion I've had for a while... anyway, for those of you who have never watched LOST, in the show, there's an AU where they all remember what happened in the original timeline in their new purgatory timeline. Yeah, it's confusing. Anywho, in this AU, the most of the Bohos are strangers, act different, have different names, are in different relationships, etc. Hopefully that makes this less confusing...?)**_

* * *

Roger Davis fumbled with the key to his apartment. Partially because he could barely see the set of keys in his hands in the dark hallway. And partially because his girlfriend April Ericsson was kissing his neck and running her hands up his shirt and across his skin. His eyes fluttered shut and he stiffled a groan, almost forgetting about trying to get to their bedroom. If it were up to him, he'd choose to have screwed April right in their dressing room at the bar his band, The Well-Hungarians, performs at every night in Santa Fe. However, there was a larger amount of groupies tonight, meaning that the lead singer and guitarist had to escape them before they tackled him- it had happened to him more than once- and tried to get him to sign nearly every body part imaginable. Although he was considerably famous, he was very committed to April. He left it up to the other guys in his band to take control of the desperate fans that wore skimpy clothing and most likely carried fake IDs on them.

"April," he moaned. "I gotta get the door open..."

"Why not do it right here?" the eccentric redhead asked as she wove her fingers through his chopped bleach blonde hair.

"Because I don't want someone else to come along and get jealous of you," he answered as he finally found the right key. He unlocked the door and burst through.

Once it was shut and locked (people have tried breaking down his door on a few occasions as well) he picked up April and their lips crashed together. Their tongues tangoed together as Roger carried his girlfriend off to their bedroom. April stripped Roger of his plaid pants and black shirt and stripped off her black dress, teasing Roger. He lied her down and they went right back to where they left off. Chest to chest. Skin to skin. Tongue on tongue. The passion they felt was immense. They were in love. She wasn't just another fan. He was more than some rockstar.

"I love you," April whispered huskily as she nibbled on Roger's ear.

"I love you more," Roger groaned as he played with the waistband of her black thong. "Forever and always."

April pulled away from him and said, "No day but today," before kissing him again.

* * *

Meanwhile, across the country in New York City on Avenue B in a dirty apartment building, an AZT beeper went off and rang throughout the building. The inhabitants of the building were used to the sound of it daily, but whenever it went off at two in the morning, they would all become agitated because of it. On the third story, Benjamin Coffin III flipped onto his stomach and covered his ears with a pillow. It didn't block out the sound. He hated the fact that the owners of the annoying sound happened to be heavy sleepers. Next to him in bed, his girlfriend, Mikayla Marquez, groaned at the familiar noise.

"_¡Dios mío!_" she hissed.

"Every goddamn night," Benny sighed. "I swear, it does this on purpose."

"_¡Alguien convertir ese maldito ruido de descuento!_" Angelo Dumott Schunard snapped from the couch. (_Someone turn that damn noise off!_)

"_No me importa si se está muriendo,_" Mikayla said, "_Voy a agarrar ese maldito zumbido y metérsela por el culo._"

"Something tells me that I should be glad I don't speak Spanish right now," Benny remarked.

"Trust me, it wasn't the prettiest choice of words you'd think of," Angelo laughed. He reached over and grabbed his glasses from the coffee table so he could see Benny and Mikayla, who was now shouting more obscenities out the window at the people who lived above them.

"Maybe she can learn enough English to really make them feel threatened," Benny said, smiling at his Spanish girlfriend.

"If they taught any classes about learning English at NYU I would take her to school with me," Angelo said. "I tried teaching her some words earlier today, but then we got distracted, and I ended up teaching her one thing."

"What's that?"

"_Dile a Benny lo que has aprendido Mikayla_," Angelo told his best friend. (_Tell Benny what you learned Mikayla_.)

The Latina nodded and climbed back into the apartment. She left the window, praying that a nice late summer breeze would come through the humid apartment. She licked her lips and struggled a bit to figure out the words again.

"I... love... you," she said slowly. Angelo smiled and nodded. Benny turned and mouthed _thank you_ to his roommate.

"_Te amo_," he replied. Mikayla gasped and hugged Benny. He hugged her back and pressed his lips to her forehead. Angelo took off his glasses and tried to go back to sleep as the annoying sound finally ceased.

* * *

Upstairs, Maureen Johnson trudged her feet across the dirty floor. She heard the familiar shouts of her neighbor underneath of her, cursing in Spanish. It happened every day at least three times. She had grown accustomed to the snappy Latina after dealing with her for at least a year. But it was something that Maureen lived with. She finally found the AZT beeper on the metal table and shut it off. She opened a little orange bottle and took out a pill. She set it down as she looked around for a water bottle. She set it down and spent a few moments to play with the ring on her left ring finger. She loved it dearly. It was a simple gold band with a small diamond on it. Her fiancé had saved up for months to buy this ring before proposing last Valentine's Day. She didn't even hesitate to say yes.

Maureen took the medicine and water to her bedroom and set it down on the beside table before shaking her fiancé lightly.

"Pookie, wake up," she whispered. "AZT break."

"Thanks," Mark Cohen said as he sat up. He turned on the lamp on the table and swallowed the pill. Maureen sat down beside him and rubbed his leg sympathetically.

"Maybe we can time our wedding ceremony for this to go off right before we start?" she joked.

"If you want to start a time-table, go for it, sweetie," Mark responded, going along with it. "When do you want it to go off during the reception? When we cut the cake or when you through your flowers? Or how about right as I take off your garter?"

"As we drive off in a taxi that has a _JUST MARRIED_ sign taped to the back of it!" Maureen giggled. Mark laughed with her. They stopped at the same time and took each other's hands.

"I love you," Mark said.

"I love you too, Markie," Maureen said. She leaned forward and planted one sweet kiss on his lips. "I know this sounds a bit cliché, but you're my best friend, and I'm glad that we're together."

"A match made in heaven," Mark agreed. "Now let's get to bed. You have that new job in the morning, right?"

"Don't forget that you have the news at noon." Maureen grabbed her hairbrush off of the table and held it to her mouth as if it were a microphone. "Hello, New York, you're watching _Buzzline_, with me, Alexi Darling!" she said, flawlessly nailing her impression of Mark's boss. "Now let's go to Mark Cohen at the lot between avenues A and B."

Mark took the hairbrush from Maureen and adjusted his glasses on his face. "As poverty hits an all time high in the Lower East Side of New York City, the Westport Greys build a CyberArts studio to go along with their Blockbuster video franchise. What will ever become of our tent city?"

Maureen fell over from laughing to hard. She always enjoyed watching Mark on-screen; he was so awkward that she found it cute and always teased him about it. Mark set aside the brush and his glasses and lied down with his fiancé.

"One day, after we graduate college, we'll be able to do more than being reporters and waiters," he said.

"Well, as future Performing Arts and Filming majors, we can do tons more!" Maureen exclaimed. She sat up and started bouncing on her knees. "You can direct films starring me!"

"I'll remember to do that for our wedding video montage," Mark agreed. "For now, I want some sleep."

Mark lied down, stretched out on his back. Maureen rested her head on his chest and listened to the sounds of his beating heart as he fell asleep. She began to cry as she did. Mark felt her tears permeating his white shirt and rubbed her arm.

"I know," he cooed. "I don't like this either. But I was born this way, Maureen."

"I don't want you to die, Pookie," Maureen sniffled. "I love you too much to let you go."

Mark smiled at that and tried not to cry. He kissed the top of her head and whispered, "I love you too."

* * *

Joanne Jefferson took another sip from her mug of coffee as she read over the same files for a fifth time. She was working on her newest case, the Murget case, and knew that she had the upper hand. It was so simple. Sexual harassment and civil rights. These cases were common for the lawyer, and with her keen reasoning, she would be able to win over a jury within a few minutes. It would be impossible for her to lose.

Her cellphone rang. She reached into her pants pocket and pulled it out to see who was calling this late at night. She sighed; it was Steve. She hesitated before answering. "Hello?"

"Hey, Jo, baby," her counselor said. "How have you been."

"Steve, how many times to I have to say this?" she asked. "We had a thing once but we need to keep this professional between us, not romantic or emotional."

"But Joanne, I want you so bad." If scents could travel through phones, she would be able to smell the alcohol she sensed he had been drinking. When he was sober, he acted humane around the lawyer. But if you handed the man a few shots, he'd call her and beg her to come back to him.

"Steve, I suggest that you hang up the phone before you end up jobless," she warned.

"But Jo, remember when we-?"

Joanne hung up on his and turned off her phone. She took another sip of coffee and continued reviewing the case, shaking her head.

"Men," she snorted. "Can't live with them or without them."

* * *

Thomas Collins smiled as he held open the door for a young blonde woman. She was barely twenty-one and he was pretty sure that she was his student last year. He was used to his students fawning over him, and if they were clever enough, they would find him at CBGB's, get him drunk, and then finally do what they wanted with their professor. He had to be careful with what he did with students though; he had to leave other universities for that very reason. He had been at places such as UCLA or UNM, and there, the girls were sleazier and looser. He was grateful that the girls in New York had somewhat more dignity. He was trying to aim to teach philosophy at MIT, but NYU was the closest he could get. Not that he complained. He just prefered students who did something other than watch television all day.

"You were great, Professor Collins," the blonde in front of him said with a hint of seduction in her tone. He was unphased by this.

"See you at graduation, Brittany," he bid her farewell.

"My name is Melissa!" she reminded him. He just ushered her out of his apartment and shut the door. He heard a little huff of disappointment from the other side as she stalked off. He made a mental note to try to pick up classier women than college students from now on.

Collins made his way to his kitchen and picked up his new class schedule. He only had one group of students this semester- for some reason, computer age philosophy wasn't considered appealing to most NYU students- but had them every weekday at two in the afternoon. At least he'd be able to sleep in, he thought to himself. There were roughly sixty students listed in the roster this year. He scanned over the names to see if there were any that would come up that he'd recognize. Some of the other professors had warned him of a few troublemakers and slackers that they've had to deal with.

Three names did stick out to him. The first was Mark Cohen. After a few minutes of analyzing it, he realized that he was a news reporter for the show _Buzzline_. It would play in the teachers' lounge daily. He remembered him as being a little blonde guy with glasses, a timid appearance, yet a voice full of life. The next name was Angelo Dumott Schunard. Collins remembered a waiter at a local restaurant with the name Angelo from when he went out with either a colleague or a date. The third was Maureen Johnson. He had to smile at her name; every single professor who had her as a student despised her. She was known for being loud, outgoing, and rarely would she go through a class without starting some kind of argument with her teacher. She had been kicked out of a few of her classes over the years. Collins was actually glad that he would have her as a student; most students were hard to play Devil's Advocate with. He could tell that she was made for his class.

Collins scanned over the rest of the list before checking the clock. It was nearly two thirty in the morning, making it technically Sunday. He sighed; he'd come up with the lesson plans for this upcoming week later, or, as he usually did, wing it. He made his way to bed and lied down. He took notice of two things as he did so; the bed smelled like sweat and cheap perfume, and Brittany had left behind her panties.


	2. Chapter 2

Roger walked into the garage of the Well-Hungarians' drummer's house. Said drummer, Allen, had a sour look on his face when the lead guitarist and vocalist strolled in lazily. The bassist and keyboard player all let out quiet groans and turned to face Roger as well. He didn't notice the glances on their faces as he plugged his Fender to the amp and started playing a few chords absent-mindedly.

"I was thinking that we should start with 'Open Road' first," he said. "And then maybe from there we should..." He looked up and finally realized that none of the others had gotten in position to begin their most well-known song yet.

"Where were you?" the bassist, Charlie, asked.

"Look, April and I had a bit too much last night and we woke up with a nasty hangover this morning," Roger was quick to explain. Charlie held up his hand to cut him off.

"Don't," he said bitterly.

"This bullshit is getting old, Davis," the final band member, John, added. "You've been coming late to every band practice for the past few months with some half-ass excuse that usually involves either you being drunk or April."

"So what?" Roger asked as he pulled a beer out of the nearby cooler.

"So we're kicking you out."

Roger dropped the can in shock. _Kicked out of the Well-Hungarians?_ He looked at Charlie and Allen. Both of them were nodding solemnly. He couldn't believe it.

"You guys are kicking _me_ out? _Me?!_" Roger started laughing before saying angrily, "You can't kick me out of the band. In case you haven't noticed, I _am_ the band!"

"And that's another thing," Allen spoke up. "You think you're the greatest person ever. That if you were on stage with nothing but your guitar that everyone will love you just the same. But we're all a part of this band too. And as a band, we decided that we'll get much farther in life without you holding us back."

"Fine," Roger scoffed. "Good luck replacing me!"

"We already did," Charlie countered with a smirk. "His name is Liam. And he's been inside the whole time. Guess what? He showed up at noon, when we were supposed to start."

The door that led to the inside of Allen's house opened and a strange man stepped out. "Hello," he said. "I'm a huge fan-"

"Cut the crap," Roger snapped. He slowly backed out of the garage while pointing at his now-ex-band mates. "You guys think that I'm a failure?" he asked. "Just you wait. By the time you see me again, it's gonna be on posters across the country with my name on it."

"And where the hell do you think are you going to be that'll want to deal with your bullshit?" John called out after Roger.

"New York City!" the rocker snapped before speeding away in his car.

* * *

Mikayla walked through the park and crossed her arms tight across her chest. She was searching for the familiar face of a man whose name she didn't know of. Around her, everything seemed peaceful. Two little boys were chasing each other in a friendly game of tag. A mother was pushing a toddler in a stroller. The baby was reaching out at the flowers nearby and yanking on them with her pudgy hands whenever she could get a tight grip on one of them. Pigeons flew everywhere as usual for New York. Finally her eyes laid on the man she was searching for. She walked up to him and looked around to see if anyone suspicious was watching. When she was certain that no one was looking, she slipped him a thick rubberbanded wad of cash. He grinned and tucked away the money in his coat pocket.

"_Sabía que había una razón por la que te gustó,_" The Man said with a satisfactory grin. (_I knew there was a reason why I liked you._)

"_Quiero mi parte,_" Mikayla said sternly with her hand held out. The Man shook his head and took out the money again and started counting.

"I should've never agreed on giving her one-third," he grumbled to himself. He gave Mikayla four hundred dollars. The Latina smiled as she put the cash in her purse.

"_Gracías,_" she giggled as she walked back to the loft.

She wasn't particularly proud of her job; drug dealing was frowned upon, that much she knew. And she wasn't using the drugs she sold either. After a few times of watching The Man sell to his other clients, the desperation in their dilated eyes and shaking bodies, Mikayla knew that actually injecting, smoking, snorting, or whatever these people did with what they bought from her was a dangerous path to go down. She settled for selling the illegal substances where there was a larger Hispanic population in the Lower East Side so there wasn't many issues when it came to making deals. Even if someone didn't speak Spanish, she would be able to tell when they were trying to give her less than they should, resulting in the person being thrown against the nearest wall with a pocket knife held close to their throats until they paid up.

Mikayla walked up the stairs to her apartment and unlocked the door. She saw Benny sleeping on their bed and the shower running, most likely Angelo. She crawled up next to her boyfriend and was planning on taking a nap before noticing the blinking red light on the answering machine. She would have answered it if she knew who called. Most people who left messages spoke English, meaning that if Mikayla was the one to listen to it, there was no way she'd be able to understand what the person said. She didn't want to wake up Benny either. She decided to wait until Angelo got out of the shower. About four minutes later, he emerged from the bathroom with a blue towel wrapped around his waist.

"_Hay un mensaje en la máquina_," she called out. (_There's a message on the machine._) Angelo jumped a little and looked to see Mikayla.

"_¡Chica me has asustado!_" he cried. (_Chica you scared me!_)

"Mmph," Benny moaned as he woke up. He smiled when he saw Mikayla next to him. "Hey beautiful." Mikayla turned to Angelo, who repeated what Benny had said in Spanish.

"Hello... Benny," she greeted him. "_Hay un mensaje en la máquina._"

"She says that there's a message," Angelo translated. He pressed the play button and sat down on the couch.

"_Hi, you've reached Benny, Mikayla, and Angelo. Please leave a message,_" came Benny's voice.

"_Hola, has llamado a Benny, Mikayla, y Angelo. Por favor, deje un mensaje,_" was Mikayla and Angelo's voices for their Spanish-speaking friends and family.

"_Benny, it's Dave- four fifty- This is the last time you've left me without a bartender- two Buds- Don't bother coming in next week- rolling rock- you're eighty-sixed!_"

"Shit!" Benny groaned. He forgot that he was supposed to be in work early. This happened to be the seventh time he forgot this month. Angelo let out a low whistle.

"I guess CGBG's really needed their bartender," he said quietly.

"Just great," Benny snapped. "Bad enough we can barely pay for food and rent, but now I'm jobless!" Mikayla, who wasn't able to understand the situation, felt sympathy for her boyfriend and hugged him close.

"Well, don't forget that I have my job as well," Angelo pointed out as he pulled on his boxers and jeans underneath of the towel.

"You're a waiter at the Life Café," Benny pointed out.

"It's a job. And I'd offer to talk to the manager about open positions, but we just hired another waitress. I have to go and train her in an hour." Angelo pulled on his shirt over his head while Mikayla tried picking up words that would make sense to her. Angelo told Mikayla that Benny was fired in their native tongue. She gasped and hugged Benny even tighter.

"_Lo siento, amor,_" she whispered against his cheek repeatedly. (_I'm so sorry, lover._) She kissed his face, his lips, his neck, and tried to make him feel better.

"I already know where this is going," Angelo teased. "Let me go before I see something I don't want to see." He grabbed his keys and waved goodbye before shouting, "_¡Trate de mantener la fiesta en tu cama esta vez!_"

"Angelo!" Benny and Mikayla both giggled. Benny didn't know what he had said, but figured that it wasn't something very nice. He soon forgot it as Mikayla pushed him back and straddled him as she kissed him hungrily.

* * *

Joanne smirked as the judge pounded his gavel. The bailiff led away the defendant in handcuffs. Her client hugged her tight and thanked her over and over. Joanne smiled and told the young Latina girl she had just helped that it was nothing. And in her mind, it wasn't. The other person was a known sex offender in Canada and thought that he'd be able to get away with it in New York. Joanne found other files that she had dug deep for. Many would call this kind of work sleazy and low. She called it business. After all, she didn't spend six years in Harvard for nothing.

She and Murget were bombarded by news reporters and cameras as soon as she stepped outside of the court house. She had expected this. Fortunately, Murget's older brother, who was a witness in the trial, was nearby and protected his sister as he tried to hail down a taxi. Most of the reporters were still stalking them, the tacky people in suits thrusting microphones in the poor girl's face and barking questions at them.

All but one man. His cameraman was with the others, but this reporter stayed behind. Joanne smiled at that. The one person who wasn't as crazy as the others. She found it very ironic, especially since his microphone had _Buzzline_ written on it. She loathed the show.

"I hope you don't mind me asking," the reporter asked, pulling Joanne out of her thoughts. "I was actually more interested in interviewing you rather than your client." He held out a pale hand. "Mark Cohen."

"Joanne Jefferson," she replied with a smile as she shook his hand. "And why me?"

"Well, I've studied your work, and it seems that there isn't a case you can't win," Mark explained. "I know most people care about how the clients are, but I know these people don't look at the lawyer's point-of-view in these situations, and I'm trying to stand out from the rest, you know?"

"Well, Mr. Cohen, is there any specific time or place that you have in mind?"

"Um... let's see... I have class at two on weekdays... How about at the Life Café on Tuesday at six?"

"Perfect. I'll see you there Mr. Cohen."

Joanne turned and walked toward her car. She glanced back to see that the Murgets were trying to get into their cab without getting mauled by reporters still. She sighed and got in her car before driving to her apartment.

* * *

"Son of a bitch," Maureen muttered as she tied an apron around her waist. "I freaking hate uniforms."

She looked around the tiny restaurant that she and Mark come to often. She recognized some of the staff, most of whom she had caused many problems for. They didn't seem too thrilled that she was a part of the staff there now. She took her name tag and pinned it on her shirt, accidentally pricking herself.

"Shit!" she hissed.

"Those things can be such pains in the ass," one of the waiters commented as he approached her. "You're Maureen, right?"

"Can't you tell?" Maureen asked as she pointed to her name tag. She looked at the man's name tag. "Angelo?"

"That's what my mama named me," he teased with a wink. "I'm gonna show you the ropes around here. Fortunately, the most work we have to do is carry trays and fill up coke glasses. Have you ever waited tables before or anything?"

"Nope!" Maureen replied. "Never worked a day in my life."

"Then this will be a long afternoon for the both of us." Angelo looked at his section of the restaurant and noticed that the host had just seated down four people at one table. "And we start right now."

"Can we start with a break?"

"No, we take their order first." Angelo grabbed Maureen's hand and dragged her up to the table. There were three older white people with grey hair and wrinkles in their foreheads, and a younger black man with a goatee and a bored expression on his face. Both of them recognized the group as professors from NYU.

"Ew," Maureen muttered. "These guys."

Angelo decided against scolding the rookie before putting a cheeky smile on his face. "Hello and welcome to the Life Café. My name is Angelo-"

"And I'm Maureen!" She struck a pose and used jazzhands. Only the younger man laughed. The others groaned. They definitely recognized Maureen.

"... And we'll be your servers this afternoon," Angelo finished his sentence as he elbowed Maureen. He pulled out his tab booklet and paper before asking, "Can I start you off with something to drink?"

After a gruesome five minutes, they were able to get three cups of coffee and one glass of Diet Coke for the teachers. Angelo knew that Maureen was going to be hard to teach, but he wasn't giving up yet. Even if she continued pouring the wrong types of coffee into the mugs. She was good at carrying trays though, which Angelo took as a good thing.

"Are you all ready to order?" he asked his table. He took notice of something as he jotted down the orders. The younger professor stood out. While his colleagues chose coffee and salads, this man chose pasta with meatless balls.

"You're a vegetarian?" Maureen gasped. "How do you live like that?"

"Maureen!" Angelo warned through clenched teeth. He quickly apologized to them and glared at Maureen.

"It's alright," the younger man said. "I think she's just more opinionated than the average college student."

"How'd you know I was in college?" Maureen asked.

"Because I'm a teacher there."

"No way! You look like you're twenty!"

"I'll go put in your orders!" Angelo said quickly. He grabbed Maureen's arm and dragged her with him.

"What?" she asked. "He looks too young to be a professor, I swear!"

"This is gonna be a _really_ long afternoon," Angelo groaned.


	3. Chapter 3

"_Congratulations on winning your case, Kitten_," Harold Jefferson told his daughter over the phone. "_We knew you'd be able to knock them out!_"

"Thank you, Dad," Joanne replied as she untied the laces on her Doc Martens. "What to you know about the hearings yet?"

"_The confirmation hearings begin on the tenth of January, but we'll need you by the sixth._"

"_Tell her not to wear those God-awful Doc Martens of hers!_" Joanne heard her mother screeching in the background.

"Love you too, Mom," she teased.

"_And tell her to wear a dress! And a bra!_"

"Mom, I know how to dress for these things!"

"_She's just worried about this vote, Kitten,_" Joanne's father assured her. "_After all, the Senator will be there..._"

"I know, Dad, I've been to these before," Joanne groaned. "Now, if you don't mind, I have a case to work on for some unwed mothers in Harlem."

"_Wait, Kitten, what about your boyfriend Steven? Can we expect him to be there?_"

"_Oh, I like him_," Joanne's mother chirped.

"He's not coming," Joanne said, "I broke up with him."

"_Why? He was good for you._"

"Mom, I can't worry about being in a relationship at the moment. I have another case, I have an interview coming up- not to mention that he's my coworker!"

"_Interview?_" her father asked.

"Yes, Dad, an interview. One of the reporters said that he was interesting in interviewing me after studying on the cases I've done in the past. It might help out my career and bring attention to my law firm, you know?"

"_And we're proud of that. We have to go now; the Senator is expecting us. See you next year, Kitten._"

"Bye, Dad." Joanne hung up the phone and sighed. "Doesn't she realize that I don't own any other kind of shoe yet?"

* * *

Collins watched calmly as students filed into the room and chose seats based on where their friends were sitting. He could see some of the stereotypical cliques that he had seen in his high school years. A group of giggling girls with compact mirrors and tubes of mascara and lipgloss. Boys on the soccer team high-fiving and boasting about their past games. A few students in the drama program going over scripts or singing songs from Broadway. This week, they were singing _Phantom of the Opera_. A grin grew on the professor's face when he saw Maureen Johnson come in the room, dragging behind who he assumed was Mark Cohen. He'd heard the teachers gossiping in the lounge about the two of them being engaged, followed by snarky comments about how the infamous diva was somehow tied down to someone. Maureen scanned her eyes around the room and she squealed in delight when she recognized someone. Five seconds later, she had tackled Angelo Dumott Schunard in a hug. Collins decided that he should start the class now. He cleared his throat and all of the students took their seats and gave him their undivided attention.

Of course, Maureen was too busy paying attention to the rock on her finger to realize her teacher was about to start class.

"Good afternoon," Collins began. "My name is Professor Collins, and welcome to Philosophy." He grabbed a textbook from his desk and held it up. "Do any of you know what this is?" he asked. Almost every hand in the room went up. Collins pointed to a girl in the front row to answer.

"A textbook?" she answered.

"Wrong. It's a load of crap." He threw the book across the room. He smiled; _that_ got Maureen's attention.

"My philosophy doesn't come out of some textbook from the 1970s," he continued. "It comes from living life. Do you think that Socrates sat around reading other people's philosophical points of view? No, he went out and stuck his pupil's heads in a lake! For example, what do you think a person means by, 'The curtains were blue'?" He pointed to one of the boys in the back of the room that looked like a stereotypical nerd.

"The curtains represent his immense depression and his lack of will to carry on," he answered matter-of-factly.

"Okay," Collins said with a nod. He looked at Maureen, who had now started braiding her hair. "What about you, Miss Johnson?"

"What?" She looked up, but she still wove strands of hair around with her fingers.

"What does an author mean when he or she says, 'The curtains were blue'?"

"The curtains were fucking blue. What else is there to it?"

Some of the other students gasped. Most wouldn't dare curse at professors. Others who had had classes with her before expected her to get thrown out of the room in a heartbeat. Angelo murmured something under his breath in Spanish. Mark gave his fiancée a stern look. She didn't seem to react to it.

What startled the others the most was the professor's laugh.

"I knew that some good would come out of having Maureen Johnson as a student," he said. "And she does have a point."

"Exactly!" Maureen exclaimed. "What if the guy's favorite color is blue? Or his mom bought them for him when he was little and was too lazy to change them! Maybe they went along with the color scheme of the place!" She turned to Mark and shook his arm. "Pookie, we should get grey curtains for the loft! Oh, no, wait, white!"

"Maureen, now is not the time for this conversation," Mark warned through clenched teeth.

"It's okay, Mr. Cohen," Collins said. "This is a class about open expression. Hell, so far, she's doing better than the rest of the class. Keep that in mind."

"Ha!" Maureen stood in her seat. Both of the men next to her grabbed an arm and yanked her back down.

"Now," Collins continued as he wrote the word **VEGETARIANISM** on the chalkboard, "what are you views on people being vegetarian?"

Needless to say, Collins was definitely looking forward to this semester.

* * *

"New York City," April repeated for what seemed like the thousandth time that day.

"Yes, New York City," Roger said with a smile. "The city that never sleeps."

"I thought that was Vegas..."

"You'll love it there, April," Roger continued. "I stayed there for one week when we were on tour a few years back. We were at bars every night. I'm not too worried about guys hitting on you. I mean, you're sexy, of course, but when we were there, a lot of the guys were either too obsessed with their man-tans or their man, if you know what I mean."

"Even if the hottest guy in the bar hit on me, he wouldn't be able to even hold a candle to you," April assured him. "You're all I want."

"I know this cool bar there," the rockstar babbled on. "I might be able to start out there as a bartender, and then I can eventually play him a few of my demos and he'll let me perform there! It would be so great! You and me..."

April blocked out her boyfriend's voice. She felt that itch again. It was the itch she had whenever she needed a fix. Roger didn't know she was an addict; he was with his band so much that he'd never seen her shoot up. She would wear sweaters when bruises formed on her arms, and when the black and blue mark vanished, she covered up the track marks with makeup. No one had caught her yet.

She started thinking about New York. Alphabet City. Neon and chrome. Broadway. Even better than all of those were the dealers there. In Santa Fe, the dealers were very hard to find there, and their prices were higher than their costumers. April knew that the dealers in New York City were much more reasonable and easier to negotiate with if necessary.

"... Soon, those guys will regret kicking me out and replacing me with that douche Liam," Roger ended his rant. He looked over at April, who was gazing out the window with a blank expression in her eyes. Roger took one hand off of the steering wheel and held her hand.

"I love you, April," he said. April snapped out of her thoughts and looked over at Roger.

She smiled. "I love you too," she replied. They drove past a sign welcoming them into the state of Ohio. Now she was glad that they were going to New York.

* * *

Mark glanced around the waiting room of his doctor's office. He always hated coming here. It was always depressing to see all of the sick and dying people like himself. He felt bad to see parents of children with cancer and teenagers who weren't safe in bed. Mark wished that he could help pay for these people so they could live. He knew he was a lost cause now; he had been born HIV positive. His mother had slept around before he was born. She contracted the disease and didn't know until five months into her pregnancy. Mark had been taking AZT since he was a baby. He used to pray every week in a synagogue that the disease wouldn't get the upper hand in his lifelong battle. He stopped going when the disease became AIDS one year ago. He was told that he had seven years. He hadn't told Maureen though; she would become a disaster if he did. She wasn't even allowed to come with him to see any doctors. She was a bit clueless sometimes and would say things that were seemingly heartless to anyone who didn't know her.

"Mr. Cohen, Dr. Madden is ready to see you," a nurse said as she opened the door that led to the rest of the building. Mark stood up and followed her to a room. She informed him that the doctor would be with him in a few minutes.

Mark observed the room around him. He was sitting on one of the beds they usually had him lie down on when he went to the pediatrician's office as a child. There was a chair on wheels by the desk in the far corner. Posters of preventing getting STDs or AIDS were hanging off the walls with thin pieces of Scotch tape. The walls, floor, and ceiling were all the same shade of white and all of the corners and edges seemed to blend together. Mark fiddled his thumbs and cleaned off his glasses lenses to pass time. Finally, Dr. Madden came into the room with a warm smile on his face.

"Hello Mark," he greeted his patient. "How have you been?"

"Great," Mark answered. "I started my Philosophy class today."

"That's sounds tough," the doctor said with a low whistle.

"Of course it is; my fiancée is my professor's favorite student."

"Yee-ouch." The two men laughed for a few moments about that until Mark noticed Dr. Madden's mouth twist into a frown. Mark gulped.

"It's not good, is it?" Mark whispered.

"I'm afraid not," Dr. Madden confessed. "We thought that you'd have so much more time than this..."

"You said that I had at least seven years last time I saw you!"

"Not anymore." Dr. Madden paused, unsure how to say the next words. "I'm so sorry, Mark... according to this, you'll be lucky to live for the next six months. Two years at the most. Hell, I'd write down your final will and testament soon if I were you."

"But you said I was doing so well..." Mark buried his face in his hands. _Six months?_ He was going to get married. Him and Maureen were going to find a way to have kids. They were going to move someplace better, perhaps closer to Broadway to fulfill Maureen's dreams of starring in a hit Tony-award-winning musical. Now he would be considered lucky to get married.

"I'll give you a few moments before we can discuss other matters," Dr. Madden said sincerely. He left the room. Mark stared at the door for a minute before finally breaking down in tears.


	4. Chapter 4

Benny sipped the coffee he got when he tried to get a job at the nearby Starbucks. He didn't get the job, but one of the workers felt bad for him and gave him a cup on the house and a newspaper. Benny had been sitting on the couch and reading through in hopes of finding a new job that wouldn't turn him away. He was almost positive that Dave had just blackballed him in New York City, or the fact that he rode a bike around made of a few different other bikes put together wasn't very impressive to any employer he had visited. Mikayla was sitting on the other side of the couch with the comics section, trying to match up the pictures with the few English words she knew to understand them. Angelo burst through the door and started searching for his work uniform.

"Guess what I found out about the people who live upstairs," he said with an amused look on his face.

"Enlighten me," Benny replied.

"That they're engaged, in my Philosophy class, and that the girl is the person I've been training at the Life for the past few days. I haven't even told them yet that we're the ones screaming cuss words at them every night." Angelo reached out and pulled his work shirt from underneath Mikayla. The Latina barely budged as she squinted at a Peanuts comic strip.

"Any chance you could do me a solid and get her fired?" Benny asked.

"Not without getting myself fired too," Angelo answered with an apologetic look on his face. "No luck with the job hunting so far?"

"Nope..." Benny put down the paper cup as his eyes came across a job listing for a CyberArts studio. It wasn't too far; the corner of Avenue D and fifteenth street. It didn't even say anything about needing to have any work experience. He grabbed the black marker off of the table and circled the ad a few times.

"Find something?" Angelo asked.

"Well, sort of," Benny said. "What do you think about CyberArts?"

"You mean that place that evicted the homeless on the corner of D and fifteenth?" Angelo made a face. "You're not serious, right?"

"_¿Qué?_" Mikayla poked her head from around her paper, curious as to what her boyfriend and best friend were discussing.

"_Benny está pensando en trabajar en el nuevo estudio CyberArts_," Angelo said with a cluck of his tongue. "_Esas personas son idiotas._" (_Benny wants to get a job at the new CyberArts studio. Those people are idiots._)

"_¿Por qué no? Nos vendría bien el dinero. Creo que si puede él debe ir por ella._" (_Why not? We could use the money. I think that if he can he should go for it._)

"What'd she say?" Benny asked.

"She said that if you can you should," Angelo reiterated. "I'm going to be late for work." He grabbed his set of keys and headed out the front door. Benny looked to see Mikayla struggling to make sense of the comics. He smiled; she looked cute when she was frustrated. Her brows were knitted together, he lips were a bit twisted in frustration, and her tan nose wrinkled.

"You want help?" he offered.

"_Quiero grabar toda la mierda idioma Inglés_," Mikayla growled. Benny took that as a no and continued reading his part of the newspaper.

* * *

Mark shamefully covered his eyes with his hands as he watched Maureen and Angelo get into an argument with _another_ table. This time was much more interesting; Angelo had become so frustrated that the Latino started spewing out vicious Spanish words that only a few other patrons were able to understand. Instead of getting offended, Maureen asked if he could teach her how to curse out customers in Spanish. When the manager finally showed up, Mark gave Joanne an apologetic wince.

"It might take a while before we get out food," he said.

"Do you know them?" Joanne asked, motioning to the two troublesome waiters. Now Maureen was being dragged away from the group of teenagers she had been shouting at by Angelo.

"One of them is my classmate," Mark answered, "and the other one happens to be my fiancée."

"Oh. Congratulations."

"Well, we aren't here to talk about how my friends might get fired," Mark tried to change the subject. "I'm more interested in the best lawyer in New York."

"Oh, you're too much," Joanne giggled. She felt herself blush. "I wouldn't say that I'm the _best_ lawyer in New York..."

"But it's true." Mark reached into his tan messenger bag and pulled out a few copies of articles he had found of the cases Joanne had won in the past year. "Your work is very well-known by those in need of a good lawyer. The Murget case seemed pretty hard to crack. I'm curious; how do you do this?"

"Well, I didn't go to Harvard for nothing," Joanne began as she sipped her coffee. "I learned that everyone has a secret, and some of them keep them buried further than others. It's dirty work, yes, but in the long run, you can catch the criminals and perverts red-handed in front of a judge."

"Interesting," Mark murmured as he jotted down what the lawyer had said on his notepad. When he looked up, Maureen and Angelo showed up with their food- two soy burger dinners.

"I'm so sorry," Angelo apologized. "The new waitress-in-training is a bit moody and temperamental today." He glared at Maureen.

"Pookie!" she cried when she finally noticed Mark. "This place is so much fun!"

"At least for you," Angelo said under his breath.

"Maureen, don't cause his problems, _please_," Mark pleaded. "If you get fired, then we're not going to be able to pay off the rent."

"I know what you mean," the Latino groaned. "Those damn Greys keep on making rent higher so they can buy those CyberArt studios. My roommate is applying for a job there, even though I think he should go there and give them a piece of his mind instead."

"That's gonna be my next story!" Mark flipped to another page in his notepad and wrote a few things down. Angelo led Maureen away to take another table's check. Joanne just began eating her meal.

"That's a very nice fiancée you have there," she said after a few awkward moments of silence between the two.

"She is," Mark answered as he put his notepad and pen. "No matter how much trouble she causes, she's the sweetest girl you'll ever meet."

"Then she's very lucky to have a fiancé like you," Joanne said with a smile.

* * *

April wandered around some park to try to clear her head. Driving across the country with Roger for two days had been hell for her. Not because they didn't stop- if one got tired, the other drove until he or she grew tired as well- but because she had to fight the urge to shoot up. She didn't have any smack on her during the whole ride. She had thrown up a few times whenever they stopped at bathrooms. She had broken out into a sweat a few times, which she would easily blame on the broken air conditioner. Roger didn't seem to think that it was anything as he would either drive, sleep, or sing.

Now they were staying in a motel until they could find a room to stay at. Roger decided to walk around town, looking for either a good bar or a good liquor store. April lied and said that she felt like taking a nap before doing anything else. Her boyfriend nodded and headed out. Twenty minutes later led to this moment, with April "clearing her head".

That's when she spotted him. A tall man standing around, glancing around as he stood before a tiny Hispanic girl with long curly hair. After both of them cleared any suspicions of anyone watching them, the girl handed the man a large wad of cash. They exchanged a few words, he gave her a portion of the money, and she departed. April grinned; this was the man she was looking for. She counted up the money in her pocket. At least three hundred. That was what she needed. She approached him and he gave her a confused look.

"Can I help you?" he asked. His voice was deep and grave. April wasn't taken aback.

"What'cha got?" she asked. To prove that she was serious, she flashed him the green bills in her pocket. He stared at it for a moment before grinning.

"A newcomer to the scene?" he asked as he pulled out a tiny bag of fine white powder. April smiled and nodded.

"All the way from Santa Fe," she said.

"For this... One fifty for the newbie."

April was satisfied; it was much less than she had expected. She counted out her money and went to quickly make a trade for the stash.

When she did, she jumped back a bit as something unfamiliar flooded her memory.

_Meeting Roger at one of his gigs at a bar. Him making direct eye contact at her as if she were the only person in the bar._

_Laughing over a few drinks and cigarettes and one of his stories._

_Kissing outside of the Pyramid Club._

_Exchanging cash with The Man for heroin._

_Shooting up in an alley in the rain while Roger held her hand._

_Getting high with Roger while their friends just sat by without stopping them._

_The test results saying that she was HIV positive._

_Slitting her wrists in the lukewarm bath water when the others were gone, clutching a note in her hand reading __**WE'VE GOT AIDS**__._

The man gave her a look. "You alright, missy?" he asked.

"I..."

April didn't answer. She just pocketed the drug and ran. She didn't think of where she was running to- she had only been in New York for less than an hour- but she found herself back in the motel room when she stopped. Roger wasn't back yet. She was grateful for that.

She knew what the visions were. It was another universe. An alternate universe, where she and Roger were a couple. They had met in different circumstances. He was still a rockstar. She was still a junkie. But she had dragged him down the dark path with her. And she gave him AIDS.

She couldn't do that to him twice. She needed to save him while she still could.

She knew what she needed to do.

But first, she needed a hit.


	5. Chapter 5

Roger hadn't found anything yet. He did go to the bar he remembered CGBG's- and prayed that they wanted a performer. Although they weren't, the owner offered him a job as a bartender. Roger _did_ have his bartending license from before he joined the Well-Hungarians, so he figured that he might as well. He also stopped by a liquor and grabbed some vodka for himself and April. He knew that she was a bit cranky from packing all of her things and driving across the country so he figured the alcohol would make her ease up a bit. He opened the door to their motel room with a broad smile.

"I hope your thirsty," he announced as he waltzed into the gritty room. "You looked like you could use some Stoli!"

The first thing that set him off was the fact that April wasn't in the room. Usually whenever he came home from a gig or practice, April would launch herself at him, showering him with kisses. She was nowhere to be found. Not even a note. It was very unlikely that the girl had wandered off; she wasn't much of a venturer when it came to foreign places.

The second thing was her open purse on top of the stained white sheets on the queen-sized bed. Various items had fallen out of there. Although April wasn't very neat or organized at all, she was very anal about her purse. Roger respected the boundary that came to it, and rarely did she let anyone even touch it. A few items inside had spilled out. A few typical girl things that Roger made a face about; a tampon, eyeliner, and lip balm. But it wasn't those things that set him off. That was caused by the crumpled bills that had fallen out. Roger picked them up and counted the money. One hundred fifty dollars. Half of the amount Roger had noticed he was missing. For the longest time, money would vanish every now and then. Roger had assumed that he blew it all off on the most expensive liquor in bars while intoxicated; he never remembered what he did when he was wasted. Now that it was spilling out of April's purse in plain sight, his suspicions changed and went to the girl. He didn't know how she got a hold of the money, how long she'd been stealing from him, or, worse, _why_ she had been taking his money.

The third thing was something Roger didn't recognize at first. It was lying on the bed underneath of her purse. He only noticed the sharp point that pricked him when he went to put April's belongings back where they were kept. He pulled it out to find that it was a needle. At first, he thought that it was possibly a sewing needle and that his girlfriend secretly made scarves or something. Sure, he would end up teasing her for it, but he found the thought of his eccentric, hard-core punk girlfriend sewing kind of cute. The visual was destroyed once he realized that it was more than a needle. It was a syringe.

It took him a while to add one and one together. Missing money, hidden syringe, missing _girlfriend_... she was a drug addict. Roger shook him head, trying to think of the other possibilities as to everything. Maybe she injected insulin? Roger smacked his forehead with the palm of his hand, wondering if he could've thought of anything more dumb than that. She was holding it for a friend? Right, while they were thousands of miles away from all of her friends back in Santa Fé. His head started hurting from thinking too much. He set the bottle of Stoli down on the bedside table and walked cautiously to the bathroom door. He knocked on it lightly. Nothing.

"April?" he asked weakly. Still nothing. Soon rage took over. "April! _April!_ Open the door! You have some explaining to do!" Roger then opened the door.

He almost threw up when he entered the bathroom.

There laid his girlfriend in the bathtub. Her skin was a pasty grey color. Her mouth was open and her green eyes stared blankly at the ceiling. In her hand she clutched onto an empty baggie. The water in the tub wasn't clear, but a deep shade of red. So were her clothes. And her arms. Especially her wrists, where there were two thick lines trickling blood. A razor blade floated in the water.

An image flew into Roger's vision suddenly.

_April in the bathtub, clutching a note reading __**WE'VE GOT AIDS**__._

Roger jolted a bit and the vision vanished as quickly as it had come. Where had _that_ come from? It scared him a bit, especially with the _**WE'VE GOT AIDS**_ part. He shook it off and gulped.

His girlfriend had slit her wrists in the bathroom while he was out.

Where did this suicidal impulse come from? He could still see her, so alive and passionate. He could hear her seductively purring his name in his ear, or moaning it for everyone to hear. He remembered watching her dance to his songs and winking at him from the large crowds of people. This wasn't the April Ericsson he knew and loved.

Roger didn't know when he mustered up the courage to back out of the bathroom and dial nine-one-one. He barely understood the words he uttered into the phone when he tried to explain to the woman who had answered what he saw. He didn't see the flashing lights when the paramedics and police came into the room. He was barely capable of answering the many questions thrown at him.

And he still didn't know what _**WE'VE GOT AIDS**_ meant.

* * *

Collins saw her watching him from across the bar. He saw the longing in her eyes when he threw the textbook across the room on Monday. He heard the giggles and whispers of, "Oh, he's _sexy!_" to her peers when he passed by her on campus. He also knew that she was in the bar because she possessed a fake ID card. She was another girl who was desperate. She was another girl who thought that she was hot enough to get whatever man she wanted with just a flip of her hair. She was another girl who tried to screw their teacher. And Collins did think she was a bit cute.

Good thing he also knew for a fact that this girl was barely over eighteen.

She sauntered over to her professor, trying to work the angles many students had tried before. Collins could even call her out for every little thing she was doing right now. Biting her lip, trying to seem "innocent". The mini skirt hiked up a little higher to reveal more of her toned legs. The straps of her black thong "accidentally" sticking out of the top of her skirt. The V-neck shirt that went low enough to show people that she was braless while it barely covered her midriff. Her short auburn hair was pushed away from her neck, begging for the lips of the professor pressed against it. Heels that made her only a few inches shorter than the professor rather than the actual eight inch height differential so she had a better chance of stealing a kiss if she could reach his mouth.

Collins rolled his eyes. He was already amused by the amateur and she hadn't said a single word to him yet.

"You come here often?" she asked in almost a whisper. She sat down on the barstool next to the professor and scooted closer so her legs were rubbing up against his.

"Yes," he answered. "Unlike some patrons here, I _can_ come here legally."

The high-pitched giggle that came from the student was irritating. Collins tried to move away, but the slutty student had placed her hand on his knee.

"Don't," she pleaded. He felt her hand slowly snake toward its primary target; his crotch.

"Don't what?" he replied. He decided to play along for a moment and see how much further she went.

"Don't try to push me away," the girl said. "I'm not like other girls."

"Oh, really?" the professor chuckled.

"I could make you _really_ happy, you know..." Now her hand was at the top of his leg. He grabbed her hand and lifted it off of him. The girl was caught off-guard by this action.

"You should know that I can have you arrested and expelled in only two short phone calls," Collins warned. "So before you try anything else, go home and do the assignment I gave you earlier today."

He dropped the whore's hand. She let out a groan and stormed away. From the other side of him, Collins heard a hearty laugh. He turned to see a woman his age with her hand over her mouth, smiling and giggling behind it, sitting three seats away. She had mocha skin and deep brown eyes he was almost instantly lost in. She had curls sticking out in an almost afro-like fashion, but he found it to be sexy. She was wearing a business suit and a pair of worn Doc Martens. They locked eyes before Collins blinked and broke the silence between them.

"Did that amuse you?" he asked.

"My favorite part was when you called her out for being your student," the woman admitted without a shame.

"I'm used to this with my students. They try to get me drunk and have their way with me before bragging to their friends for sleeping with a professor."

"Professor, huh?" The woman moved to the seat next to him. "What university do you teach at?"

"NYU. I teach Philosophy."

"That's very interesting. Philosophy wasn't something I stuck with in university."

"And where did you go that made Philosophy seem boring to you?"

"Harvard. I graduated from their law program."

"Ah, someone around here who actually has a brain." The woman giggled at this. She stuck out her hand.

"Joanne," she introduced herself. Collins shook her hand back.

"Well, let me buy you a drink, Joanne," he said. He got the bartender's attention and ordered two Tom Collinses.

"Interesting choice of drink," Joanne commented. "What made you choose that?"

"That's my way of telling you my name," Collins admitted.

"So you were named after a cocktail, Professor Tom Collins?" The lawyer giggled at this as the bartender handed them their drinks.

"Could be worse," Collins said as the two clinked their glasses together. "I could be named Harvey Wallbanger." The two of them laughed at that before sipping their drinks and smiling at each other from behind their glasses.

When they woke up the next morning, they were entangled in the bedsheets of Collins' apartment, nude and happy that they had met someone more than an easy lay.

* * *

"AZT break!" Maureen announced as the beeper went off at midnight. As she headed toward the kitchen to turn it off, she heard the Spanish curses again. This time, the girl downstairs was cut off by a male voice, also in Spanish. Maureen thought that this voice sounded familiar but she brushed it off as she filled a plastic red cup with tap water. Mark walked into the room in nothing but white boxers on. He rubbed his eye before putting his glasses on his face. He didn't say anything as he took his pill and swallowed it. Maureen frowned; he had been oddly silent for the past day. He had even tried going out of his way of looking at her, which didn't work out well for him since they had class together everyday and lived together.

"What?" Mark asked when he noticed Maureen glaring at him.

"There's something off about you," she said.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Mark lied.

"Yes you are, Mark; I _know_ when you're lying."

Mark gulped; Maureen always called him "Marky" or "Pookie". Whenever she actually called him "Mark", that meant she was angry with him. An angry Maureen was the last thing anyone wanted to deal with. He tried walking back to their bedroom before his fiancée pinned him to the couch.

"Tell me the truth," Maureen said sternly.

"I seriously don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, really?" As a threat, Maureen held up her left hand and slowly began twisting her ring around as if she were going to take it off.

"Okay!" Mark shouted. He didn't want to risk losing Maureen. "It's about my..."

"Oh." Maureen climbed off of her fiancé and sat down next to him.

"I went to see Dr. Madden yesterday. He had said that I was doing so well..."

"That's good, right?"

"_Had_ was the key word during the appointment."

Maureen looked down at the ground and fought back the tears she felt forming. "How long?" she asked quietly.

"If I'm _really _lucky, two years," Mark said. "But if not... he said it'd be a miracle if I'm alive in six months."

Now Maureen let her barriers down. She wept openly and hugged a sobbing Mark. There went all of the plans that they had made for their futures together. How were they going to ever have kids and move to a better place than Avenue B? At this rate, they were lucky to even be husband and wife for the short amount of time they had left.

"I love you, Maureen," Mark whimpered. "I love you so much."

"I love you too, Marky," Maureen replied. "With all of my heart." She didn't know what triggered her next motive, but she began kissing Mark. Her hands travelled across his bare chest. His hands went up the back of the shirt of his that she had draped over her body. He then picked her up, their lips still locked, and carried her back to the bedroom to continue.


	6. Chapter 6

Benny straightened out his tie while he sat in the office of Mr. Grey. He wasn't sure why he was even nervous to begin with; he was almost one hundred percent sure that he wouldn't walk out of here with a job. Hell, he didn't even know what CyberArts was. He just saw the ad and figured that he could give it a shot. He didn't want to sit at home all day with Mikayla. He loved her, but without Angelo there to help Benny understand what his girlfriend was telling him, they wouldn't be able to do much. And if one of them wasn't in the mood, then the other was miserable, usually Benny. Besides, the rent wasn't very cheap, and with Angelo's job as a waiter, not much could be done. And Mikayla must've had a job too since she would disappear for a few hours and return with money in her pockets, but neither man knew exactly _where_ she came up with the money when she didn't speak English while most New Yorkers did.

The door opened and Benny rose out of his seat immediately to face Mr. Grey. The man was tall and slightly plump with a bored expression on his face. He was dressed much better than Benny, who was clad in a light blue dress shirt, black dress pants, and a black tie, all of which he had borrowed from Angelo. This man oozed success. Benny gulped and watched nervously as his (hopefully) future employer shut the door behind him. He stuck out a large hand in Benny's direction. Benny shook it firmly, trying to make a good first impression.

"Hello, sir," he said. "I'm Benjamin Coffin... the third."

"Hello, Benjamin," Mr. Grey replied. Benny cringed; he hated being called "Benjamin". He had grown accustomed to everyone calling him "Benny", including his family. He didn't sit down again until Mr. Grey had taken his seat behind the desk.

"So, you live nearby?" Mr. Grey asked, raising an eyebrow as he looked over Benny's resume.

"Uh, yes, sir," Benny answered. "I live at the corner of eleventh and Avenue B."

"I know," Mr. Grey said without looking up. "I own the lot. I own quite a few lots in that area."

Benny wrung his hands together. He hadn't known that he was asking to be employed by his landlord. "That's wonderful," he squeaked.

"So what does a bartender from the East Village think he has to offer a CyberArts studio?" Mr. Grey mused.

Benny sighed. "Look, I'm going to be honest here; I have absolutely no idea what CyberArts is. I was fired from my last job a couple of days ago and I need to pay rent. My roommate has a job, but he's just a waiter at some small diner. And my girlfriend is jobless because her first language is Spanish and we're trying our hardest to teach her English. And one day, I want to marry her and move her to somewhere better than our loft, which is small for the three of us, but I can't afford it right now, and..." Mr. Grey held up his hand to cut off Benny, who stopped rambling on instantly.

"You seem like someone who has a lot on his plate," the older man began. Benny nodded. "However, not many people are interested in jobs like this. I can tell that you're just trying to stay on your feet, so here's what I'll do for you. I'll give you the job here, but you'll have to go through training before you can begin. My daughter Alison will train you. You begin on Friday."

Benny was stunned. He couldn't believe that he was given the job. He thought that admitting that he was completely clueless and desperate would guarantee him nothing but failure. Now he was a working man again. He stood up and shook Mr. Grey's hand vigorously.

"Thank you sir," he said. "I won't let you down, sir."

"I hope not," Mr. Grey replied. "Just make sure that you show up here at noon on Friday."

"I will!" Benny walked calmly out of the building before cheering and laughing and dancing in circles with joy.

* * *

"How's the spa, Dad?" Joanne asked her father over the phone.

"_Wonderful, Kitten,_" Mr. Jefferson said. "_This is the most relaxed I've seen your mother in years. I might have to get a spa built in our backyard now._"

Joanne chuckled. "That's great to hear Dad."

"_How about you? Is that new case of yours making you stay up till the crack of dawn stressing out? Maybe we could get you a ticket to come down here..._"

"No, thanks, I'm fine. This case isn't too bad. I'm going to win it for sure."

"_I know you will. We saw your segment on _Buzzline_ about your work. It was very unusual for the show, but it was wonderful. You're going to have hundreds of potential clients now._"

"It's wonderful, isn't it Dad." Joanne frowned when she heard her mother's voice muffled in the background, especially when she heard the word "Steven".

"_Your mother wants to know if you've worked out things with Steven yet,_" Mr. Jefferson told his daughter.

"No, Dad, but I met someone else-"

"_Joanne Jefferson, that man was good for you and you know it!_" Mrs. Jefferson barked into the phone.

"But I met another man, Mom," Joanne insisted. "He's a professor at NYU."

"_Oh, a professor, huh?_" Joanne's father asked. "_Sounds very interesting._"

"He is," Joanne continued. "His name is Tom Collins and he teaches Philosophy. He's brilliant Dad, and _much better than Steven_." She purposefully added the last part because she knew for a fact that he mother was still eavesdropping on their conversation.

"_If he makes you happy, then we're both happy Kitten,_" Mr. Jefferson promised.

"_Harold!_" Joanne's mother cried. Joanne sighed when her two parents began an argument.

"I have to go! Bye Mom and Dad!" she said quickly before hanging up the phone. She smiled. "He does make me happy," she told herself as her mind wandered back to Collins.

* * *

"Steve."

"Gordon."

"Ali."

"Pam."

"Sue."

"Hi, I'm Maureen!"

"Mark."

"I'm Paul," said the man in charge of running the Life Support meetings. He didn't recognize the new woman sitting between Sue and Mark, but he did notice the perfect smile plastered on her face among the sorrowness surrounding her. He found it very amusing; most people who showed up at Life Support weren't exactly too thrilled about their current conditions.

"Let's begin," he continued. He turned to Gordon first. "How was your last appointment?"

"Good," Gordon replied. "The doctor said that I'm stronger than he thought I was. I have a few good years before I could possibly take a turn for the worst."

"That's wonderful to hear," Paul said. He looked around to see the others smile sympathetically. All except for one. "Is everything alright, Mark?" he asked the frowning man.

"No, Paul, nothing is alright," Mark replied glumly. "I went to the doctor on Monday. He said that I'll be lucky to live for another six months. And if a miracle happens, two years at most."

"But we're hoping for two years," Maureen chirped, still smiling. She took Mark's hand in hers and rubbed the back of it to soothe him.

"So you're the famous Maureen," Paul said. "Mark has said a lot about his fiancée. You're more beautiful than he's described you. I'm glad you could come to a meeting." Maureen giggled at the compliment.

"I thought I could be here for moral support for Marky," she told him. "We had so many dreams for our future. We planned on saving up for an elaborate wedding in the fall. He was going to become more than a news reporter, and I would fulfill my dreams of starring on Broadway. And we'd have kids and move to someplace less shitty than our loft..." Maureen's smile fell. "Now we know that those possibilities of any of that happening are slim to none."

"Not exactly," Pam spoke up. "You two could still get married, but without anything elaborate."

"Really?" Mark asked. He perked up a bit at this. "How?"

"Some people elope," Ali answered. "All you need are some witnesses and a place that does weddings on the spot, and the two of you are good."

"She has a point," Paul agreed. "If you two are really set on getting married within a limited amount of time, that may be the simplest way. Also, it saves you money."

Mark and Maureen nodded and sat through the rest of the meeting in silence. But the same thought was going through both of their minds; eloping.

* * *

"You wanted to speak with me?" Collins asked the dean of NYU as he entered the man's office. He was in the middle of grading a pop quiz he had sprung on his students earlier today, and for the most part, he wondered why most of them even bothered taking Philosophy. There wasn't a single paper so far that didn't have red ink on it, except for Maureen's.

"Yes, sit down, Thomas," the dean said. Collins sat down in front of the desk and waited patiently.

"Am I in any sort of trouble?" he asked. He had planned on going home and calling Joanne to see if she wanted to come over.

He really thought that maybe she was the one he was looking for all along. She was different than all of the Brenda's and Tammy's that he's slept around with. She had intelligence, wits, looks, and was basically the whole package. She wasn't looking for some one-night stand like the others. She was looking for love and a person willing to give it in return. And Collins wanted her for what she was.

"No, it's nothing like that," the dean assured him. "However, there is another university who is looking for a Philosophy professor and wants you to work there."

Collins scoffed at that. Dozens of universities wanted him, despite his crackpot theories that made him seem insane. "Which one this time?" he asked.

"MIT."

Had Collins been drinking anything at the moment the dean said those three magical letters, he would've done a spit take instantly. MIT was the college he had been striving for since he started teaching. He dreamed about teaching there. And finally, someone from there had recognized his philosophical teachings and realized that they needed him. He wanted to jump up and down with joy.

But now he was mixed about going there. Yes, it was his dream, but now that he had this new class of his, he was unsure. He didn't know what it was about a certain three students in his class- one of them, naturally, being none other than Maureen- but they created this spark that the others he taught didn't. None of his other students in the past had brought the fire they had. He didn't want to leave them behind. But this was what he wanted.

"Do you need my answer now?" Collins asked.

"You have until Sunday," the dean responded. "We don't want to lose you as a professor, Thomas. If we do, we may not be able to have a course on Philosophy anymore. Choose wisely."

"Thank you," Collins said before he left the office.

On his walk back to his apartment, he thought about what to choose. NYU or MIT? The students he loved or the university he longed for? To start a life with Joanne or to start anew? He didn't want to have to choose between the two options, both of which had pretty solid reasons as to why he should pick either one, but he had four days to decide.

"Hey, nice coat man," a stranger called out. Collins turned to see three men approaching him.

"You gotta light?" one of them asked.

"Sure man, hold on," Collins answered. He reached into his pocket for a lighter.

"_Get him!_"

Collins started running instantly. He knew that thugs were common around here, but he never had to face any before. He ran down an alley in an attempt to escape them, but he tripped and fell. Two of them wrestled to get his coat off while the third punched him. But instead of blacking out and seeing stars, Collins saw something else.

_Three thugs jumping him while he called Mark and Roger. They took his coat, but they missed a sleeve._

_An Angel carrying a pickle tub coming to his rescue and flirting with him._

_Showing up at the loft with his beloved drag queen bearing alcohol and money._

_Going to Life Support and being surrounded by others with AIDS like himself._

_Watching a homeless woman snapping at Mark._

_Dreaming about opening up a restaurant in Santa Fé._

_Walking around New York with Angel and sharing their first kiss as a couple._

_Letting her buy him a new coat._

_Watching his best friend Maureen moo while protesting the rezoning of the eleventh street lot between Avenues A and B._

_Dancing on tables with Maureen and Roger while taunting the yuppie scum, Benny, the enemy of Avenue A._

_Celebrating the new year as James Bond (with his Pussy Galore) by breaking into the loft._

_Caring for Angel as he grew sick and watching the lesions form on his paling skin._

_Rocking him in his arms and crying as he flatlined._

_Crying their song at his funeral while clutching onto his drumsticks._

_Shouting at his friends to stop arguing at the funeral._

_Going back to MIT temporarily._

_Rewiring the ATM at the food emporium to provide an honorarium to anyone with the code: A-N-G-E-L._

_Showing up at the loft with some flow for Mark and Roger on the anniversary of when he first met his Angel._

_Maureen and Joanne showing up carrying an ill and dying Mimi._

_Listening to Roger play her his song and watching her die in his arms just like Angel had in his own._

_Watching her come back to life and talking about seeing Angel while she was dead._

_Crying and hugging her and his friends while watching Mark's new film- _Today 4 U: Proof Positive.

Collins gasped for air once he regained consciousness. The three thugs had taken off and left him in the alley. He could feel his lip and nose bleeding. There would definitely be a few bruises on his skin tomorrow morning. He slowly and painfully rose to his feet and chuckled when he saw the one remaining sleeve of his jacket hanging off of his arm.


	7. Chapter 7

Collins watched Angelo, Mark, and Maureen the next day in class as they all walked into the room. Today, Angelo was apologizing to the couple for something. The only words the professor caught from what the boy said involved cursing in Spanish in the middle of the night. Mark and Maureen seemed to shrug it off as they took their seats. Collins frowned. Had none of them realized that there was another world in which they were all friends? He could remember every second of it. Every kiss he shared with Angel. Every time Mark called out Maureen for cheating. Every drink or joint or cigarette they all shared together with the others. Every protest, streak, or film they were involved in. To his pupils, none of it had ever happened. They were oblivious to it. Collins knew he had to get them to remember it. So when the clock struck two, he wrote two words on the chalkboard:

**ALTERNATE UNIVERSE**

"Does anyone know what an alternate universe is?" Collins asked the sixty college students sitting down before him. He motioned to a boy who had the misfortune of wearing braces in his twenties.

"It's the theory of there being other universes where our lifestyles are completely different from the one we are currently living in," he answered.

"Correct. Today, I want to discuss the possibility of there being alternate universes where we are all different from who we are today. Now, I'm going to pull three volunteers up here to help out." He pointed to the three he kept in mind the whole time. "Angelo, Mark, Maureen, front and center," he ordered.

"Yay!" Maureen cheered as the three of them walked up next to their professor. They stood side-by-side with Mark in the middle, his fiancée to his left, clutching his hand, and his neighbor to his right.

"Now, in an alternate universe, the four of us are friends," Collins explained. "Out of the four of us, three of us are dying of AIDS, and one of us is scared because he or she doesn't know what will become of him or her when he or she's all alone. Why? Because he or she witnesses one of the other three of us die. Now, who do you think is dying, who do you think is dead, and who is scared to be alone?"

Mark was the one who raised his hand. "Are you the one who isn't dying of AIDS?"

"Actually, Mark, it's _you_."

Mark gasped. _An alternate universe where he wasn't dying of AIDS?_ It was like a dream. Maureen grasped his hand tighter and smiled warmly, despite being told that in another universe she was living with her fiancé's illness herself.

"Who died?" Angelo piped up, snapping Mark and Maureen from their thoughts.

"You did," Collins told the Latino. Angelo gasped and stared at the floor. He wasn't finding the experiment very fun anymore.

"So, in another universe, I'm scared because I'm all alone?" Mark asked.

Collins ignored him. "Now, I'm going to say some things that could also be possible in this alternate universe, and I want the three of you to guess who's who. Two of us are currently in a relationship. The other two of us were in a relationship until one of us cheated with a different woman. Who's who?" The class giggled, only because there was one girl in the front of the room among three men.

"Are Maureen and I the better relationship?" Mark asked.

"No, actually, you're in the other one," Collins answered. Now the class was roaring with laughter. Angelo's face turned bright red and he stared at his feet shyly.

"Oh, I bet I'm the one who cheated!" Maureen exclaimed. The professor nodded. "I'm on a roll today!"

"Maureen!" Mark scolded. "How could you cheat on me with a woman?"

"I dunno. She must've been a hot chick."

"Moving on," Collins interrupted. "One of us gets engaged, and the rest of us shows up at this person's engagement party. Who's the lucky person with a ring on their finger?"

"Me!" Maureen blurted. "I engaged the chick!"

"Mo!" Mark cried.

"She's much brighter than most of you think," Collins chuckled. "She is the one who gets engaged. Now, one of us has a different name in this alternate universe."

"Me?" Angelo asked with one hand slightly raised in the air.

"Correct," Collins said. "In this place, there's no 'O' in your name. You're just Angel."

"Angel..." Angelo smiled; he liked the sound of that.

"Continuing. Three of us used to be roommates."

"I bet it was the three of us," Mark suggested, pointing to the two people standing beside him.

"One of them wasn't."

"Angelo?"

"Correct. In this alternate universe, one of us kills a dog."

The students gasped at this inhumane action. Almost immediately, all fingers in the room were pointed directly at Maureen.

"Hey!" she cried.

"It's alright Maureen," Collins said. "In fact, it's not you, but Angelo." Angelo blushed at this and felt a bit sick that he would even consider doing such a crime.

"Now, one of us is a drag queen. Who?"

Again, all fingers were pointed at one person, but this time, it was Mark.

"What?" he exclaimed. "Why would you think it's me?"

"It's Angelo again," Collins said quickly before anyone else would insult Mark.

"I have the worst luck in the other universe," Angelo groaned.

Collins smiled and kept his hands behind his back. He had the temptation to kiss the Latino, but if he didn't know the truth, then Collins would be in huge trouble. "Let's see who wants to guess which one of us moons their landlord at a restaurant..."

Maureen giggled. "Now I _know_ that's me!"

* * *

"Repeat after me," Benny said. "How are you?"

"_¿Qué?_" Mikayla replied. Benny groaned and tried not to shout at his girlfriend, although he knew that if he did, she wouldn't know what he said.

"'_¿Cómo estás?_' That means 'How are you?' So can you say that?"

"How... are... you?"

"Good!" Benny leaned in and kissed her. That was her reward for every phrase she got correct from Spanish to English.

With Angelo's job and classes, no one was able to help Mikayla learn English. He had a Spanish-to-English dictionary and twelve years of a public school education to help him teach his girlfriend her second language. He prayed that it would be more productive than other times, and so far, it was.

"'_¿Y tú?_' is, 'and you?' in English," he said. "Say, 'and you?'"

"And... you?" Mikayla sounded out slowly.

"Great!" Benny kissed her again. "You're making progress."

Mikayla groaned and leaned back. "_¿Podemos tomar un descanso?_" (_Can we take a break?_) After a minute spent going back and forth through the pages of his dictionary Benny was able to translate what his girlfriend said.

"No," he told her. "Just a few more phrases and..."

"No!" Mikayla snapped. "_Estoy cansado._" (_I'm tired._)

"If you want to get somewhere in America, you need this Mikayla," Benny protested.

"_¿América?_" the feisty Latina spat. "_¡Mierda América! ¿Qué ha hecho por mí?_" (_America? Fuck America! What has it ever done for me?_)

"Mikayla, don't be bitter about this!"

"_Atornille esta mierda._" (_Screw this shit._) The Latina grabbed her purse and stormed out of the loft.

"Where are you going?" her boyfriend called after her.

"_¡Lejos de ti antes de que te puñetazo en la cara y llamar a todos tus putos dientes hacia fuera!" _she shouted. (_Away from you before I punch you in the face and knock all of your fucking teeth out!_)

Benny groaned and fell back onto the bed with his dictionary over his face.

* * *

Roger sat on the street corner with his guitar. He had been questioned by the police and various workers at the hospital for the past few days. They were all repeated too. _How long have you known about her heroin addiction?_ Not until he saw her with her wrists slit in the bathroom. _Has she had a history of depression?_ She was so full of life that he couldn't possibly even fathom the idea of her being even remotely sad. _Who was her dealer?_ How the hell was he supposed to know where she bought her drugs if he didn't even know that she used them? _Has she shown any signs that she was using heroin?_ He didn't know anyone else who was a drug addict, so he didn't know what the signs could be. Eventually, he was allowed to leave. His only way of dealing with his pain meant playing his guitar.

He strummed the chords of one of the songs he wrote. "_Open road_," he sang softly. "_Why does love erode? Get away, you can't stay away..._" A woman passing by dropped a dime in front of him. Roger accepted it and after a moment of thinking he took the cup of alcohol he had and finished the vodka inside before setting it out.

"_Look away from the mirror now,_" he harmonized as he continued playing. "_Look straight out ahead- that's how. But how can you let her go? Let her go. No you can't forget the world, better save your heart. Start to close the door. Look for open road. Open road..._" A few people dropped in coins. Someone even gave him a five dollar bill.

"_Why can't I crack love's code? Time to fly, no time to say goodbye. Goodbye! Just try to forget her face. Just get yourself in the race. There's a place that you have to go. Have to go. No, you can't heal the pain. Better heal your heart. Start your motor up. Take up open road. There's a hit and run cat on the highway. Another cat sits saying a prayer. I swear as I pass she's laughing my way. Where did my love go, cry her eyes. Where did my love go?_"

"You're really good," a passing teenage girl commented. "I think you could really make it big someday."

"Well, you may have heard of my band," Roger replied with a grin. "You know, the Well-Hungarians?"

The girl cocked her head with a confused smile. "Who?"

"The Well-Hungarians," Roger repeated. "I'm the lead singer and guitarist, Roger Davis."

"I've never heard of them, but I'll look for their record," the girl said before skipping off. Roger was surprised; in Santa Fé, everyone knew who he was. Now he was in a town where he was just another face. He shook his head and went back to playing.

"_Where did my love go?_" he sang. "_No, you can't forget her eyes. You'll still protect your heart as you start for home. Breathe it in and slow. You don't have to go if your heart is open... your heart is open... your heart is open... road!_"

When he had finished his first song, he had made eight dollars and forty-two cents from random strangers passing by who liked his music. He pocketed the money and put his cup back on the ground as he started playing another song.


	8. Chapter 8

"Benjamin."

"Benjamin."

"_Benjamin!_"

"Oh my gosh, Benjamin Coffin the Third, do you want to keep this job or not?"

Benny finally wandered away from his thoughts and looked over at an irate Alison Grey. The woman had her arms crossed across her chest and was glaring at her father's employee. She had been trying to show Benny how to use a computer (while at the same time scandalized at the fact that he had no clue how to use one to begin with). So far, he'd barely been able to turn it on and learn the pass code for it. When her father had said that he was technologically illiterate, she thought he meant that he didn't know much more outside of using a search engine. This, she thought, was just depressing. And now she couldn't get this man to even focus long enough to teach him anything more than the power switch.

"I'm sorry," Benny apologized quietly.

Alison softened at his tone. "Are you alright?" she asked. "I know that technology isn't a strong suit for people like you, but trust me, I will make sure you understand."

"'People like you'?" Benny repeated. He let out a laugh. "I knew that you yuppies were always ignorant, but this... this is low."

"Excuse me?" Alison scoffed.

"I know your kind. You look down on people like me. And I've seen it. I know because your dad owns the block. Hell, he owns half of the buildings in the entire damn East Village! But you don't care about the fact that half of the people here are homeless. I bet you don't know about the homeless people evicted and beaten by police as they were carelessly tossed onto the sidewalk. We're all just people trying to make their way here, and you couldn't give two shits about whether or not we're even breathing. And for the record, we're called _Bohemians_."

Alison was taken aback. No one had ever talked to her this way before. She was appalled at Benny's words. It was as if someone had slapped her across the face. She grew up with everyone respecting her and her family. Now Benny, who was considered lower than dirt in most people's eyes, was telling her off.

"I... uh..." She couldn't find the right response.

"That's what I thought," Benny muttered. He struggled to undo his tie before yanking it off and throwing it on the tiled floor.

"Are you alright?" Alison asked gently. "I couldn't help but notice that you've been sort of distant this whole time. Is there something on your mind?"

"Actually, yes," Benny answered. He sat down in a nearby chair before continuing, "My girlfriend and I have been on edge lately. The worst part is that we don't understand each other."

"Well, a lot of couples have problem seeing the other person's point of view," Alison said.

Benny chuckled. "Thanks for the comforting cliché, but we literally can't understand each other. Her first language is Spanish and I'm trying to teach her English."

"Then how do you...?"

"Her best friend, our roommate, speaks both languages," the bohemian explained. "However, he's usually at university or work, so we try our hardest. Lately, it's either sex or arguing in different languages."

"That's... lovely," Alison said as she made a face.

"I'm boring you, aren't I?" Benny let out a long sigh. "I don't even know why I'm doing this. This isn't how it was supposed to work out. I wasn't going to give my soul to the devil's work."

"Hey." Alison pulled up another chair and sat down right in front of Benny. "Stop putting yourself down. I'm sure that deep down, there's a guy who is going to find what he's looking for in the world and when he finds it, he'll know."

Alison took Benny's hands in hers, and memories flooded their brains.

_The two of them meeting when Mr. Grey came to collect rent._

_Alison purposefully willing to come back to collect rent just to flirt with Benny._

_Promising him a better life with the Westport Greys._

_After giving an ultimum from Mark, Roger, Collins, and Maureen, Benny chose Alison._

_Benny meeting Mimi at the Cat Scratch Club during his bachelor party and starting the affair he never expected._

_Getting married months later._

_Buying lots around the East Village while turning them into video franchises and CyberArts studios._

_Finding out about Maureen's protest in the last lot he had recently bought- and that he was supposed to stop it._

_Watching as Alison's beloved Akita, Evita, dove out of the window of the twenty-third window._

_Trying to collect rent from dozens of Bohemians who threw flaming papers at his Range Rover._

_Trying to make a deal with his friends as they continuously denied him._

_Watching as he was humiliated by Maureen as she called him a bulldog._

_Trying to safely get Mr. Grey out of the lot when the riot broke out._

_Trying to talk about future construction before having a confrontation with his old friends._

_Being mooned by Maureen- the highlight of his evening._

_Asking Mimi if Roger knew about their history._

_Trying to find a waiter so he and Mr. Grey could get the hell out of the Life Café._

_Having Alison padlock their building in revenge._

_Going back to try to make amends- and finding out who the murderer of his dog was (Collins' new boyfriend)._

_Cheating on Alison with Mimi._

_Angel's funeral._

_Trying to stop Mimi from fighting with Roger and offering to pay for her to go to a clinic Mark suggested._

_Talking to Roger about how she loved him after Mimi disappeared._

_Alison finding out about Mimi._

_Benny later discovering that Alison was the one who let Mimi out of rehab._

_The two of them trying to fix their marriage and move on from the mistakes they had made within the past year._

"Benny?" Alison asked her husband.

"Oh my gosh, Alison." Benny stood up and pulled Alison in for a passionate kiss. She began crying as they did.

"I can't believe this..." Alison wiped the tears from her eyes. "All of this time, I had no idea."

"I'm so sorry about Mimi."

"Me too."

They cut each other off with another kiss.

* * *

Collins was grateful when the bell rang to signal the end of the class. He sat at his desk patiently while his students walked up and handed in their papers on their theory of alternate universes. For the most part, the students seemed amused by the lecture from the previous day. Mark was glad that there was a world where he wasn't cursed with the deadly disease. Maureen was ecstatic that she was engaged to a woman, much to Mark's dismay. The only person who wasn't thrilled was Angelo. In fact, he was rather mortified and had been teased throughout class for the past two days. Collins smiled as each person handed in their reports. Maureen's was surprisingly longer than the others. Angelo was one of the last people to hand in his, and he refused to make eye contact with his professor.

"Are you alright, Angelo?" Collins asked his student.

_Of course he's not_, he thought. _My Angel doesn't even know who he really is!_

"Yes, sir," the Latino mumbled.

"Angelo, come on!" Maureen screeched. "We have to be at the Life in an hour!"

"I'm coming, Mo!" Angelo ran to catch up with her. Collins sighed and just straightened out the papers in front of him.

"Is that why you haven't called me yet?"

Collins looked up to see Joanne. She was wearing a suit and carrying a tan briefcase in her hands. She had a very weak smile on her face as she looked at the man she was falling in love with. Instantly, the professor felt an immense amount of guilt. He had forgotten all about Joanne.

"Joanne..." He stood up and walked around the desk to her. "I'm so sorry... I forgot to call you."

"Please, Tom, don't," Joanne said. She bit her lip. "I don't want to hear your excuses."

"Call me Collins," Collins told her.

"Then I don't want to hear your excuses, _Collins_."

"I was going to call you. I swear, I meant to the other day when I was coming back from work, but then something came up."

"What happened to your face?" Joanne asked. She reached out and ran her fingertips over the bruise on his cheek. She pulled away from him when he winced.

"I was jumped," Collins admitted. "And then... something happened."

"You forgot my number?" Joanne teased.

"No. I saw these... visions. They were like long-lost memories. It was another life that we all lived, where the two of us were friends."

"Define friends."

"You're not going to believe this, but..." Collins began laughing before saying, "We were both gay!"

"Collins, you're not making any sense," Joanne said.

"None of it does! But that's the beauty of it!" Collins grabbed the lawyer's shoulders and shook her a bit. "It was a place where we all were in love with all of the right people, and now, we're living the lives we would have if we didn't have true love. Trust me, love isn't my forte, and I was certain that I had found it in you, but now I know that we were meant to be with other people. I was meant to be with Angel, and you are supposed to be with Maureen!"

"Was that him?" Joanne asked. She tried not to cry. "Was that boy who you were talking to when I walked in here Angel?"

"Here, he's Angelo," Collins corrected. "And that eccentric, loud-mouthed, insane girl he walked out with... that's your girl. That's Maureen."

"You may be smart, but I'm no idiot! If you can't just admit that you never loved me and that you're gay, then just say it. I won't hate you for it. But lying is worse!" Joanne delivered a painful backhand to the professor's face and let out a sob before rushing out of the classroom.

* * *

Maureen let out a tiny giggle of excitement as she knocked on Angelo and Mikayla's door. She squeezed Mark's hand and kissed his cheek. They had decided to get married on Monday, which was only three days away. However, they found a chapel nearby who would agree to do weddings on the spot and they decided not to waste another moment. The deal was that they would need to bring two witnesses with them. It was Mark's idea, despite the fact that their Hispanic neighbors were the ones screaming at them in the middle of the night. Maureen agreed. She said that she needed a new friend.

Mikayla was the one who opened the door. "_¿Te puedo ayudar?_" she asked. (_Can I help you?_)

"Can we talk to you and Angelo about something?" Mark asked. Two seconds later, he realized through the Latina's puzzled expression that she didn't understand a word he was saying.

"WE NEED TO SPEAK TO YOU AND ANGELO!" Maureen shouted, pronouncing every syllable slowly.

"Baby, that's not going to help her understand us any better," Mark hissed.

"I got this pookie."

"Oh, hey there," Angelo greeted the couple before Maureen could scream in Mikayla's face again.

"Can we talk to you guys about something?" Mark asked.

"Sure, come in and sit on the couch." Angelo opened the door wider and gestured to the lumpy red couch. The engaged couple sat down on it and their friends chose to sit on Mikayla and Benny's bed.

"_¿Qué es lo que quieren?_" Mikayla asked. Angelo shushed her.

"As you know, we're engaged," Mark began. "And we're planning to get married this Monday."

"Congratulations," Angelo said.

"Thanks. We need two witnesses, so we were both hoping if you and Mikayla would be the witnesses."

"Oh my..." Angelo told a confused Mikayla what Mark said in their native tongue before saying with excitement, "Of course we will!"

"Yay!" Maureen cheered. She hugged the two of them and squealed in delight.

"Can we meet up in front of the building after class on Monday?" Mark asked. "You know, after we all get dressed up too and stuff."

"Sure... but can we talk about something?" Angelo asked. He turned to Mikayla and told her something in Spanish. She nodded and walked to the bathroom.

"What's on your mind, Angelo?" Maureen asked.

"It's about that lecture in class yesterday," he replied. "What Professor Collins told us about this alternate reality and these lives we all had."

"You're freaked out because now you're called teacher's pet, aren't you?"

"No, it's not that. It's just that... he seemed so exact and precise about this alternate universe theory of his that it's like he believes that we're the people he described us."

"Angelo, he said that you were a drag queen and that Maureen got engaged to a woman," Mark said with a laugh. "He also said that I didn't have AIDS, but you two did. What that man said made no sense. He didn't describe us at all. He made them all up."

"Unless you've got the hots for our professor," Maureen teased with a sly wink.

"_No_," Angelo said. "Trust me, I'm not."

"It's okay if you do-"

"Maureen, don't," Mark warned.

"It's okay, that's just her inner diva coming out," Angelo assured. "Trust me, I'm more of a ladies' man. I just don't have the time for a girlfriend, and don't you dare set me up." Maureen, who was right about to name all of the single friends she had, shut her mouth.

"You're just being paranoid," Mark said. "It's alright. It freaked me out too. I thought about there being a world where I'm not dying. And it was one of the best feelings I had ever experienced."

"And I liked the thought of being with a woman," Maureen added. "It's taboo around here."

"I'm not a fan of skirts and heels though," Angelo said, wrinkling his nose before the three of them began laughing.


	9. Chapter 9

Mikayla climbed up the fire escape back into her apartment after a hard day of hustling foolish druggies. Many of them took the tiny Latina for granted until she pulled back her jacket a bit to reveal the gun she had in her waistband. It helped them pay more than what they needed to before running away in fear. Today, rather than the usual three or four hundred she was barely able to earn, she had one thousand dollars in profit. The Man was beyond impressed with his accomplice. She had danced the entire way back to her home and was prepared to go out with Benny and Angelo and party non-stop. Angelo wasn't working tonight and didn't have school during the weekend, while Benny had barely mentioned something about having a mandatory meeting with his boss before he would return.

When Mikayla peeked in the windows, she saw Angelo and Benny shouting at each other. She slipped inside quietly and watched from a distance. Naturally, she didn't understand a single word they were saying, so she tried to figure out what was happening based on their actions. It was obvious that Angelo was trying to prevent Benny from doing something while her boyfriend threw his belongings in a suitcase. Mikayla furrowed her brow and came out from her hiding spot.

_"¿Benny? ¿Angelo?_" she asked. Both men didn't acknowledge her presence and continued their dispute in English.

"You can't do this to us!" Angelo snapped. "We can barely afford rent as it is! Do you know how hard it's going to be for Mikayla to get a job?"

"I know, I know," Benny said as he dumped a pile of shirts into his suitcase.

"This is outrageous! You're boss wouldn't just promote you randomly after working there for barely two days! You're technologically illiterate! How could you get a higher ranking job at a CyberArts studio without any experience?"

"Because he likes me, okay?" Now Benny was putting his toothbrush and cologne into a bookbag.

"You're a prick! How do you think she's going to react when she finds out? She might murder you. _I_ sure do!"

"_¿Puede alguien decirme qué está pasando?_" Mikayla asked. (_Can someone tell me what's going on?_) Angelo and Benny heard her this time and turned to face her.

"Oh, Mikayla..." Angelo began softly. Soon, it was replaced with utter rage. "_Tu novio está saliendo porque es un gilipollas de mierda._" (_Your boyfriend is moving out because he's a fucking asshole_.)

"I don't know what you said, but I know for a fact that you just insulted me," Benny said without stopping.

Mikayla felt her heart stop. "_No..._" she whimpered. She thought for a minute before slowly enunciating, "What... are you... doing, Benny?"

"You want the truth?" Benny shouted even though he knew she wouldn't understand. "I met another woman. Alison. And we're soul mates. I'm sorry, baby, but that's just how it needs to be, okay?" He zipped up his bookbag and snapped shut his suitcase. "And she's going to be outside to get me in a few minutes."

"You motherfucker, how could you do this?!" Angelo cried. "You're just ditching us for a yuppie!"

"Don't you call her that!"

Before anyone knew what was going on, Angelo punched Benny in the face. Benny wasn't able to recover in time to be greeted with a glob of spit in his face and being shoved to the ground. Angelo straddled him and punched his face a few more times before Mikayla started screaming and pulling Angelo off of Benny. He unwillingly backed away after kicking Benny in the gut.

"Just get the fuck out," the Latino growled.

"With pleasure," Benny said as he wiped the spit from his face. He grabbed his suitcase and bookbag before storming out the door. Mikayla, who had been frightened by Angelo and heartbroken from being dumped, curled up in a ball in the corner of the room and began to cry.

* * *

Roger handed over two beers to the sexy woman at the bar wearing rubber with a wink. She made a face before sauntering back to her girlfriend and kissing her. The woman purposefully watched Roger as she did this, letting him know very clearly that she was far from interested in him. He rolled his eyes and used a dirty rag to wipe down the countertop. He had tried to play his guitar for Dave and get a gig at the new place he worked at, CGBG's. Dave said no, and that he had laid off some other guy right before he showed up, meaning that he really needed the extra bartender at the moment. Roger had finally caved and decided to keep on serving drinks to random people. He tried to make things more interesting (and attempt to clear his mind of April) by flirting with some of the women. All of them were either taken (by either a man or another woman), uninterested, or running to the bathroom to throw up before responding to him.

"Two beers," a man said as he approached the bar. "And keep 'em coming until she stops freaking out." He nudged a smaller woman next to him. She looked confused as she bit on her fingernail. Roger smiled and grabbed two beers for them.

"New to the city?" he asked.

"Nope, just dealing with a heartbroken best friend over here."

_Is this the month for losing loved ones?_ Roger wondered. He stared at the girl a bit more.

"And just to let you know, we'll all say that I carded you," he told them. The girl didn't seem to understand, but the boy with her definitely did.

"How'd you figure out that we're nineteen and twenty?" he asked as he took a sip of beer.

"Because you're wearing an NYU shirt, your friend seems pretty lost, and frankly, neither of you could pull off looking twenty-one anywhere else," Roger explained.

"She's not lost," the boy said defiantly. "She doesn't speak English."

"Oh."

"I'm Angelo." Angelo stuck out his hand. Roger shook it back.

"Roger," he told him. "What's your friend's name?"

"Mikayla."

At this, Mikayla's attention adverted from her beer bottle. "_¿Qué?_" she asked.

"See?" Angelo chuckled a bit before taking another swig of alcohol. Roger smiled; rarely did he have someone worth talking to at work. The other two guys working during his shift as well didn't seem to care who they struck up a conversation with. Angelo and Mikayla were the only two people who seemed worthwhile so far.

"Well, if you get the chance, tell her that she's beautiful," he said, grinning at Mikayla. She blushed and waved shyly. Angelo nodded and told Mikayla what Roger said in Spanish. She said something back in Spanish as well. Roger loved her accent and the way the words rolled fluently off of her tongue.

"She says, 'thank you,'" Angelo told Roger, bringing him out of his thoughts.

"She's so very welcome," Roger said, shifting his attention to the Latina. "So where exactly is Mikayla from?"

Mikayla just blinked and paid more attention to her drink than Roger.

"We're originally from Puerto Rico," Angelo explained. "In high school, I took four years of English as a foreign language and then another year-long lesson here. Mikayla took the class freshmen year and now I'm trying to reteach her." He finished his beer and set down the empty bottle on the bar counter. "And you can try to talk to her while I go to the bathroom," he said. Angelo told Mikayla that he'd be right back before hopping off of the stool and walking away.

Mikayla blushed. Roger smile shyly and removed the bottle from the counter.

"_Angelo mejor prisa_," Mikayla murmured. (_Angelo better hurry_.)

"I think it'll be easier to talk to you without your understanding," Roger said to the confused girl. He chuckled. "It's not every day when you have to deal with heartbreak, you know? I'm getting over someone myself." He frowned. "I try not to remember her sometimes. I was in love with her, but she lied to me. She was addicted to heroin during our entire relationship. Hell, I even got fucking_ tested_ because I thought she gave me AIDS or something. Thankfully, it was negative."

"_Espero que sepas que no puedo entender_," Mikayla replied. (_I hope you know I can't understand you._)

Roger nodded. "Yeah, it is a miracle, isn't it." He thought for a minute before saying, "_Me llamo Roger. ¿Y tú?_" (_My name is Roger. How about you?_)

Mikayla's eyes widened. She was shocked. No stranger, especially those who didn't speak Spanish well enough to communicate with her without the help of Angelo, even attempted having a conversation with her like that, not even Benny. Usually, men would talk to her in English, wait for a response, and then move on when they realized she wasn't able to understand anything. Roger was different.

It took her a minute to find the right words. "They... call... me..."

_¿Qué viene despues?_ she thought. _¿No hay orta palabra?_ (_What comes next? Isn't there another word?_) Now she remembered why Angelo spoke for her. She didn't know how English sentences work. Was now the part when she said her name? Was there more? She tried not to panick as Roger watched her.

"They call me... me... me..." She was at a lost.

"Mimi?" Roger asked. He didn't realize Mikayla didn't mean to say that. "That's a pretty name for a pretty lady." At that moment, their hands accidentally brushed against each other.

_"They call me... they call me Mimi."_

In an instance, Mikayla and Roger pulled their hands away from each other. They saw something unusual. Instead of being in a bar, they were in some apartment in the dark. There was a candle. A bag of drugs, which, of course, Mikayla recognized from selling it on the streets. But nothing else made sense. The two of them gazed into each other's eyes, curious as to the slight vision they had just experienced.

And before either person could say or do something else, Angelo reappeared.

"You'd think there would be shorter lines in the guys' bathroom," he said to himself.

"_¿Podemos irnos?_" Mikayla asked. "_¿Por favor?_"

"_Sí_." Angelo pulled out his wallet and started counting out crumpled one dollar bills from the tips he made at the Life Café. "We need to leave," he said to Roger without any explanation as to why.

"Cool," the bartender replied lamely.

"Hopefully, we'll see you soon." Angelo put down his pile of green bills in front of Roger and led Mikayla out the door. Roger watched them as they left.

"Hey!" a drunk man further down the bar shouted at Roger, tearing him away from the Hispanic duo. "Gimme another beer!"

"On it," Roger said.

He wasn't looking forward to the rest of tonight; that man was on his fifth beer now.

* * *

**"**Malibu?"

"No."

"Hawaii?"

"No."

"Paris?"

"No."

"Cancun?"

"Maureen, please be practical."

"Disney World?"

"Maureen!"

"Fine! Disney _Land?_"

"Really?"

"What about New Jersey?"

"Maureen, can you just admit that we can't afford a honeymoon?" Mark cried, exasperated.

"No, Pookie, I won't!" Maureen jutted out her bottom lip. "I don't want to admit that we can't afford it."

"I don't either," Mark said. "But Mo, we can barely afford to live here! We talked about that, right?"

"I know," Maureen said. She bit her lip and stared at Mark for a moment before asking, "What if we got a roommate?"

"What?" Mark laughed. "Did you just suggest that we get a roommate?"

"Think about it," the diva said. "We'd be able to have someone help pay for rent and utilities and stuff. Then we'd be able to have some of our own extra money to do things such as go on our honeymoon..." She poked Mark's side a few times.

"We're getting married in two days," Mark said. "And we're going to have to work for twenty more years before we finally get anything close to our honeymoon. We live in the shittiest place in New York and can barely afford it. Getting a roommate isn't going to change anything."

"But would trying hurt?" Maureen asked.

Mark couldn't think of a response to her question. He was stuck.

"We have a spare room that's full of random junk," Maureen continued. "We can just move it somewhere else or give it away, like to the Goodwill or something. And then we'll interview people and the right person will move in, pay for half of the rent and other things, and soon we can afford that honeymoon we want."

"Well..."

Mark thought about it. All of their money that they currently had went toward a tiny amount of food, the wedding, Maureen's need to buy a dress (which, fortunately, for their wallets' sakes, was very reasonably priced and made for the diva's standards), and the rent, which the landlord was coming for tomorrow. With a roommate, there would be a better chance that they could afford more things. Nicer things. A real honeymoon. That seemed to be the one thing they both wanted but neither could actually have.

"I'll make up some flyers and post them around town tomorrow," Mark said as he finally caved in. Maureen squealed in delight and kissed him.

"Thank you Pookie!" she cheered. "Oh, and before I forget, don't worry about that. I already made a few and posted them around town."

* * *

Roger noticed a flyer right by the entrance to CGBG's as he ended his shift. It was offering a place to live. An apartment in the East Village at eleventh street and Avenue B, to be a little more exact. The details written seemed reasonable and cheap. Currently, paying every other day to stay at the motel wasn't something Roger wanted to do. He hadn't had a real meal since April's death, but he had drank away the memories of her a few times. And it was to live with some guy and chick. It didn't seem like the worst living conditions.

Roger peeled to flyer off of the wall and shoved it in his pocket as he made his way back to the motel room.


	10. Chapter 10

Collins walked through the campus, ignoring the funny looks he was receiving from colleagues and students. It was Sunday; he was _never_ at NYU on weekends. Most teachers never showed up on the days they had off. Whenever they did, later that day they could be seen packing their belongings. Collins was afraid of that too; the dean had called him and said that he needed to be in his office soon. What would have gotten him into trouble? Was it because he threw a textbook? Or was it for the demonstrations he gave in class suggesting that he was in a relationship with a student? He even thought it was because he hadn't reported Maureen for anything yet. By now, all of her other teachers had at least one complaint about her. Collins took a deep breath and straightened his tie before opening the door.

"Sir?" he asked nervously. "You wanted to see me?"

"Ah, yes, come on in Thomas," the dean said as he set down a neat stack of papers on the desk. Collins saw another man sitting across from the dean who he didn't recognize. He sat down in the chair next to him and gulped.

"I'm not in any trouble, am I?" Collins asked.

The other two men laughed. "You forgot, didn't you?" the dean chuckled. He collected himself before introducing the stranger, "This is John Harbison from MIT. He's recently received a MacArthur Fellows for his work in MIT's Art and Musical Theater department. He's known mostly for his work in musical composition."

"Hello," Collins greeted him. The man had a strong handshake.

"I've heard many good things about this man," Harbison said with a warm smile. The philosopher only nodded.

"He's here from MIT to talk to you about transferring over to their campus," the dean continued. "And from what the offer is, I think you should consider this."

"We have looked at all professors from major universities and your work has been the most impressive by a landslide," Harbison explained. "You would be set for life." He pushed a contract toward Collins. "Go ahead and read it," he suggested. "It's all in the fine print."

Collins picked up the contract and read through the entire thing. The other two men were silent and staring at him. Harbison was right; he would be set for life. They must've really wanted him. High salary. Great living conditions. Not to mention all of the benefits on there. It made his contract with NYU seem worthless now.

But he couldn't. He knew that his work here wasn't done yet. His life- the one with Angel, Mark, Maureen, Joanne, Roger, and Mimi, and, sure, why not Benny too- was still unknown to the others. He couldn't leave them behind now that he knew that he had a chance to be with his true love.

So he pushed the contract away and said, "I decline."

"What are doing Thomas?" the dean gasped.

"Professor Collins, do you have any idea what you're doing?" Harbison asked. "This is the opportunity of a lifetime and you're declining it!"

"That's right," Collins said with a smile. He turned on his heel and walked out of the dean's office with a grin.

"Oh, Professor, say it isn't so!" a student cried. She ran up to the professor and proceeded to hug him, but Collins held his arms out so she wouldn't.

"Say what isn't so?" he asked.

"You went into the dean's office!" the girl exclaimed. A few of her friends had gathered around by now. "Are you being fired?"

"Better than that!" Collins laughed. "I turned down the perfect offer to MIT!"

"Uh, sir, are you alright?" another student asked. "You're going mad."

"Of course I am! Good day!" Collins walked home with a broad grin and many concerned faculty and pupils watching him in confusion.

* * *

"_¡Data prisa, Angelo, el Sr. Grey estará aquí pronto!_" Mikayla called out as she climbed in the window. (_Hurry, Angelo, Mr. Grey will be here soon!_) She threw her purse on the bed and searched for her friend.

"_¡Dame un minuto!_" Angelo shouted through the bathroom door. (_Give me a minute!_) He shortly emerged from the bathroom wiping his hands on the sides of his jeans.

"_Acabo de ver el Range Rover bajando la calle,_" Mikayla sing-songed. (_I just saw the Range Rover coming down the street._)

"_Necesito encontrar a mi talonario de cheques en primar lugar._" (_I need to find my checkbook first._) Angelo searched through his school bag before locating it. He went to turn on the light switch for the kitchen, but it didn't turn on. He frowned and tried a few more times without any success. Mikayla took notice and tried the bathroom lights. Still nothing.

"_¿Es la salida de corriente?_" she asked. (_Is the power out?_)

"_Se estaba trabajando hace una hora,_" Angelo said. (_It was working an hour ago._) Before either of them could figure out why they were powerless, there was a knock on the door. Mikayla went to the door and opened it to find the last person she expected.

"Benny?" she asked.

Angelo marched up to the door. "What are you doing here?" he spat. Mikayla kept herself between the two men, in case one of them decided to jump the other.

"I'm here to collect the rent," Benny said quietly.

"What are you talking about?"

"I didn't tell you? Or were you too busy punching my mouth to let me say anything."

"_¿Qué está pasando?_" Mikayla asked, tugging on Angelo's shirt. (_What's going on?_) She hated nothing more than the language barrier between her and the rest of the world.

"_Benny es nuestro nuevo propietario_," Angelo answered. (_Benny is our new landlord._) He scowled at the traitor, who stared at his own feet.

"Do the two of you know how far behind you are on rent?" he asked with confidence.

"Rent?" Angelo scoffed. "When was the last time _you_ paid the rent here?"

"Well, we agreed that no one has power until the entire building pays their dues," Benny shot back.

"We? Who the hell is this 'we'? Because _we_ didn't agree on anything with you."

"Benny?" A new voice floated down the stairwell. It was one that both Angelo and Mikayla were familiar with but neither of them could put a name on it.

"I'm down here Alison," Benny called up.

"Alison?" Mikayla asked. "Alison Grey?"

"Oh no," Angelo muttered under his breath.

"Mikayla, I can explain," Benny began. Before he could say anything else, Mikayla started pounding her fists against his chest. Although he was hurt by her, Benny was surprised at her reaction.

"_¿Alison Grey?_" she screamed. "_¿Cojidas Alison Grey! ¡Podría estrangularte ahora mismo! ¿Me dejaste por esa perra? ¡Espero que un gripo de hombres que la violacíon en un callejón!_" (_Alison Grey? Fucking Alison Grey?! I could strangle you right now! You left me for that bitch? I hope a gang of men rape you in an alley!_)

Angelo, being the only person around who understood every word she spewed, let out a low whistle.

"You don't understand, do you?" Benny asked. Mikayla punched her ex-boyfriend a few more times before Angelo finally restrained her arms.

"What's there to understand?" he asked. "You left her for the landlord's daughter, and now you're our new landlord."

"But I did this for all of you!" Benny insisted. "This was my fate all along. I was meant to be with Alison, and I didn't realize that until after I met her."

"You met her on Friday! It's Sunday!"

"And one day, the two of you will have the epiphany that I did and realize that this Bohemian lifestyle that we're all living in right now is just a lie." Benny looked down the hall to see Alison rushing out of the building while some woman shouted down at her.

"Just because you're with a Muffy doesn't mean you can do this to us," Angelo said.

"This was to get your attention," Benny replied. "I'll try to get your power back by the end of the week. Meanwhile, I need the cash." He held out his hand with his palm open, gesturing for Angelo to pay up. The Latino groaned and wrote out a check for the current month before giving it to Benny. The slumlord smiled and left. Mikayla muttered a few words of what she thought about Benny and Alison before she finally slammed the door shut.

* * *

The first thing that Roger noticed about the building was the cleanliness... or lack of, Graffiti was scribbled over walls. Stains of many unknown substances were splattered across grey bricks. Broken glass was shattered and scattered across the metal staircase, more of it appearing as he ascended the steps. A few used condoms were lying around, droopy and messy. Now he knew that his new potential neighbors were completely horny and didn't give a damn about where they did it or if anyone might happen to take notice of it. He had carried himself and his guitar up these stairs to the fourth floor, not minding the disgusting mess he had witnessed. He only had an issue about the lack of electricity in the building at the moment.

"Our landlord is very tempermental," the man, Mark, explained. "He doesn't collect our rent on time, therefore he makes us suffer. It's like he has some secret pleasure for making poor people suffer."

"All three of them are total jackasses," the woman, Maureen, said bluntly. "There's the owner of basically half of the East Village, his bitch of a daughter, and her new beau, who apparently used to be one of the people who lived here." She opened a beer can and drank it. She didn't bother to wipe away the droplets that had missed her mouth. "You missed me get rid of the daughter earlier."

"You chased her out of the apartment with a broom and screaming that you would sent your flying monkeys to take her back to your castle," Mark reminded her.

"It's called creativity, Pookie."

Roger simply nodded. He liked these people. The woman was a bit abrasive, and the man had trouble being open about himself compared to most people. But he felt like he already knew them.

"How much would it cost for me to live here?" he asked.

"Do you have a job?" Mark asked.

"Yeah, I'm a bartender at CGBG's."

"Well, Maureen is a waitress at the Life Café and I'm a reporter for _Buzzline_. So if we split it up evenly, you'd only have to pay about two hundred each month."

Roger smiled. He could actually afford that. It was much cheaper than the motel room. And the memory of April wasn't haunting him either. There was a large living space, full of various objects. Half of it had text books and paperwork overflowing; he remembered hearing one of them say that they were students at NYU. Books about filmography (his major) and theater arts (her major). A blue bicycle just lying against the desk. Candles and matches that overflowed out of a box, along with the candles lit around the loft. An actual kitchen rather than a mini fridge and a list of restaurants in the area. Sure, he could see that they were just trying to get by with very little, but he actually liked that about them.

"Do we have a deal?" Maureen asked, holding out her hand.

Roger grinned. "Deal." He shook her hand.

"We have a room ready for you to move in to," Mark said, pointing to a closed door.

"I'll get my bags and bring them up," Roger said.

"Take these first." Mark tossed a pair of keys at Roger. "If you ever go out and need a way in, just shout up to us and one of us will throw the keys down, and if one of us needs to get in, you'd toss down these."

"Got it." Roger pocketed the keys and began descending the stairs. He only made it down one floor before he saw the tiny glow of a candlelight. He looked and saw the girl from the bar last night, Mikayla, standing in an open doorway, holding a candlestick in her hand. She smiled at Roger and blew out her candle.

As soon as the flame disappeared, something else filled Roger's mind.

_Befriending Mark and Collins as children._

_Meeting Maureen and Benny as adolescents._

_Moving to New York to pursue all of their dreams and adapting to a Bohemian lifestyle- all of them being under one roof._

_Forming the Well-Hungarians._

_Meeting April while performing._

_Talking to her and making her laugh with stories about gigs that had gone awry._

_Kissing her outside of CGBG's._

_Fighting with Benny when he chose his girlfriend over his friends._

_Discovering April's drug habit and falling victim to it as well._

_Collins going to MIT to teach Philosophy._

_Getting kicked out of the Well-Hungarians because of his drug habit._

_Finding April in the bathtub, bleeding out in the bath, clutching onto a note saying __**WE'VE GOT AIDS**__._

_Finally agreeing, after being pushed by both Mark and Maureen, to go to rehab._

_Sobering up and moving on from his past with drugs._

_Moving back into the loft with Mark and Maureen._

_Watching as Maureen admitted to Mark that she cheated on him with a lawyer... named Joanne._

_Struggling to find that one song._

_Laughing when Mark's mother called about Maureen dumping him._

_Nearly getting electrocuted when attempting to get the power back with the fusebox._

_Collins calling and asking for the key._

_Throwing posters of himself into a pit of fire with Mark that they ended up dumping out in the streets to piss off Benny._

_Looking down to see a sexy Latina smoking a cigarette right underneath of him._

_Listening to Benny talk about having him selling out his soul too._

_Trying to play his guitar with little results besides the usual Musetta's Waltz._

_Watching Mimi come in with her candle._

_Trying to hide her heroin from her and having it not work out in the end._

_Collins coming in with his new friend and her pickle tub- and a huge amount of money._

_Moping around the apartment all day until Mimi comes through the window and kisses him._

_Shoving her away and calling her a child (rather than calling her an addict)._

_Giving in the next day and making himself go to Life Support._

_Watching a homeless woman harass Mark._

_Smiling modestly while Collins and Angel danced around the subway while Mark filmed them._

_Pulling Mimi away from The Man._

_Watching Maureen's protest and keeping Mimi safe when the riot breaks out._

_Pissing off the manager and Benny at the Life Café._

_Going outside and sharing a real kiss with Mimi in the snow._

_Celebrating the beginning of 1990 with his friends and coming home to find the building padlocked shut._

_After watching Angel break them in, finding that Benny took all of their stuff._

_Watching Maureen and Joanne break up at their own engagement party._

_Finding out that Benny pitied them and wanted to be known as a "benevolent god" and also Mimi's ex-boyfriend._

_Watching Angel die before them while Mimi continuously cheated on him with Benny._

_Calling it off with Mimi for good._

_Selling his guitar and buying a car._

_Going to Angel's funeral and standing by Mark while Mimi stood by Benny._

_Getting into a fight with her, and then fighting with Mark._

_Driving out west to Santa Fé._

_Seeing Mimi everywhere as he tried once again to find his song._

_Taking several busses back to New York while writing his song._

_Reconciling with Mark._

_Finding out that Mimi had vanished and that no one was able to find her._

_Ready to finally watch the film._

_Collins coming home with some money that he received from a ATM that he had rigged._

_Maureen and Joanne carrying Mimi to the loft._

_Trying to warm her up while Collins tried to call 9-1-1._

_Singing her his song as she died in his arms._

_Her being revived on her own._

_Hugging her tight and remembering that he never wanted to lose her again; he was in love with her._

When Mikayla slid her door shut, Roger blinked. All of this time, he knew her. That was his Mimi. And she didn't even know who he was. And he was moving in with his friends, who were also clueless. He blinked and quickly ran down the stairs to get his things.


	11. Chapter 11

Roger sat on the fire escape, trying to figure out how to make all of the right moves on this neighbor of his, Mikayla. He bit his lip and played out every scenario he could imagine. She would confess her love to him and sleep with him? No, that would require her to have seen him more than twice. She'd let him sing her one of his songs and then sleep with her? She didn't understand English, nor did anyone in all of New York say, "Aren't you Roger Davis from the Well-Hungarians?" She would come upstairs and jump him and sleep with him? He shook his head; he needed to pull it out of the gutter.

He went inside and was about to open the refrigerator before remembering that the power was out. _Bingo!_ He knew how to make her talk to him. He grabbed a nearby candlestick and nearly tripped as he ran down the stairs. Without any power in the building, she would surely become sympathetic and let him inside, warm him up under the covers...

He knocked on the door.

"_¿Qué has olvidado?_" a familiar voice asked from the opposite side. (_What'd you forget?_)

Moments later, it opened to reveal Mikayla, whose hair was half tied back in a sloppy bun. She had her face covered in makeup. She was wearing a robe, but from what wasn't covered, Roger could see that she was wearing nothing but underwear underneath of the robe. He smiled at the thought.

"Got a light?" he asked.

"_Yo te conozco,_" Mikayla replied. "_¿Usted vive aquí?_" (_I know you. You live here?_)

Roger pretended to understand what she had said. "They turned off the electricity, and I'm tripping over my own feet. Would you light my candle?" He held it out in front of her, but her eyes were transfixed on Roger, who was wearing an open button-down shirt. "What are you staring at?" he asked.

Mikayla blinked. "_Nada. Tu piel bajo el sol. Me resulta familiar..._" She craned her neck to look past the guitarist. "_¿Lo hace?_" (_Nothing. Your skin in the sunlight. You look familiar... Will he make it?_)

"I haven't been around here before," Roger continued. "I'm new to the city life anyway." He heard Mikayla mumble to herself. "What?"

She shook her head. "_Me recuerdas a..._" (_You remind me of..._)

"I always remind people of someone kind of... famous." Roger ran his fingers through his cropped bleached hair. "Do you know?"

"_Tengo que estar listo_," Mikayla groaned. (_I have to get ready._) She marched back inside. Roger ran ahead of her and held out his hands and the candle.

"Would you light my candle?" he asked again.

"... Candle?" Mikayla repeated.

"Yes!" Roger made the motion of lighting a match. Mikayla nodded and realized what he meant. She ran to the kitchen and returned with a book of matches. She light the candle in Roger's hand and looked up into his eyes. They were both in stunned silence as they took in the sight of each other.

"_Tengo que estar listo_," Mikayla said again.

She started scurrying around her apartment. Roger followed her and used the candle to help her see things in dark areas. She smiled when he did and bit her lip. She wished that she would know what to say to him, but no matter what came out of her mouth, he wouldn't be able to respond. She then noticed that when she reached for something in the sink cabinet that he was staring at her ass.

"_Dicen que tengo el mejor culo por debajo de la calle Catorce,_" she said with a slight seductive tone. "_¿Es cierto?_" (_They say I have the best ass below Fourteenth Street. Is it true?_)

"What?" Roger asked. Mikayla stood upright again and smirked.

"_Estás mirando_," she accused. (_You're staring._) She winked and Roger blushed.

"Oh, no," he said, shaking his head. "Well, if it helps, I think you have a, uh... No, stop it Roger!" he scolded himself.

Mikayla's ears pricked up at that. "_Me resulta familiar._" (_You look familiar_.)

"You don't remember me from the bar?" he asked, pretending to be hurt. Mikayla frowned. Roger made a motion to make it look like he was making a drink. The Latina gasped as she remembered.

"_¡Sí!_" she cried. "_¡Usted era un barman!_" (_Yes! You were a bartender!_)

Roger understood enough to know what she had said. "It's a living."

"_No te había reconocido a la luz normal_," Mikayla said. (_I didn't recognize you in normal light._)

"I guess I am just a normal guy," Roger said. Mikayla stepped closer, with impure intentions flowing through her mind. They halted when her eyes noticed the wall clock. It was just after five.

"_¡Maldita sea!_" (_Damn it!_) She started running around in circles, grabbing random items that made no sense.

"Is everything alright?" Roger asked. Instead of getting an answer, he was shoved out the door. It was slammed in his face, and as it did, it caused the candle in his hand to go out.

* * *

Joanne parked in front of a random bar. After the hell she'd been going through on her latest case, she was considering changing her name and moving to Canada. She wasn't a person who always had strong biased opinions on certain subjects (especially after dealing with the unwed mothers from Harlem). However, she wasn't too supportive of gay marriage. If they were together, it's okay. But if it's that troublesome and dangerous to be with the same-sex, why bother? The way she saw it, it was almost a waste of time. However, it was her job to support her clients, and there hasn't been a case that she hasn't won yet, therefore, she was obligated to. She shook her head as she went inside of the bar. She then realized the importance this particular bar; it was where she had first met Tom Collins. She plopped down at the counter and put her head down on it.

"You look like you could use a strong one," said a voice. Joanne picked up her head to look into a pair of emerald eyes. Messy blonde hair and a slightly darker goatee accompanied it. Joanne picked up her head and smiled weakly.

"That's a huge understatement," she said. "What's something you can make off of the top of your head?"

"Well, I don't think using my head will work, but maybe my hands can do a better job," the bartender teased. Joanne struggled not to snort as she giggled at the joke. She grinned and stared at the man (whose name tag read, "ROGER") and he stared back, only looking away to make sure he didn't spill any alcohol on the table.

"It's not going to make me have a hangover in the morning, right?" she asked, half-serious. "I have a huge case to settle."

"A lawyer, huh?" Roger asked. He handed over the drink. Joanne's smile was wiped off of her face when she saw it.

"A Tom Collins," she said monotonously.

"What's wrong with that?" Roger looked confused. "I figured that a woman like you wouldn't mind a Tom Collins."

"No, I actually like the drink," Joanne explained. "It's just... a few nights ago, I was charmed by a glorious man who happened to share the same name as this drink. In fact, he used this to introduce himself to me after one of his students tried to have sex with him. Ironically, I was the person who ended up sleeping with him that night." She smacked her forehead with the palm of her hand. "I don't know how I missed the signs..."

"Signs?" Roger asked.

"He's gay," Joanne said. She took three large gulps of her drink- she needed it in her system if she was going to finish telling her tale- before continuing, "I guess he just wasn't totally sure of himself, or drunk, or I don't know what. But he said he was going to call me and never did. He said that he got jumped. Next thing I know, he has these crazy crackpot theories about some sort of alternate universe where he's gay and I'm a lesbian!"

"Really?" Roger leaned forward. He seemed very interested in the situation.

"Even worse, he said that the person he is in love with is his student," she babbled. "He said that here, he's Angelo, but in this 'alternate universe'-" she added air quotes for effect- "his name is Angel. And that I'm supposed to be with some- and I quote- 'eccentric, loud-mouthed, insane girl' whose name is Maureen."

"Maureen, huh?" Roger pulled out two shot glasses and filled them with an amber-colored liquor. "I live with a Maureen," he said.

"Oh, gosh, I-I didn't know," Joanne said. Her speech had began to slur slightly as she became more intoxicated. "I'm sorry if I offended you."

"Don't worry, I'm not." Roger flashed another smile and held out a glass to Joanne. He clinked them together and said, "To fucked up lives."

Joanne downed the shot. She really liked this Roger guy. She knew what happened last time, but this time, something was different. He was completely interested in her fucked up life, as he had toasted to. He wasn't bad-looking at all.

"You know what?" she asked randomly. "You look like you should be some pretty boy frontman or something."

"That's a funny story," Roger laughed, "because I was a pretty boy frontman or something. They kicked me out and I moved here. We were the Well-Hungarians." A devious grin formed on his face. "Maybe you should come to my place tomorrow and I can play you some of the songs."

Joanne tried to contain her excitement. "Really?"

"Sure." He pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket and wrote down his address. "Just come by at seven tomorrow. I'm off work and my roommates will be gone. And don't worry about the tab; it's on me." He winked and moved down the bar.

Joanne held the paper in her hands and smiled. Eleventh Street and Avenue B. The address was now burned into her memory. She would definitely remember this forever.

* * *

Mark was in complete shock. Here he was, standing in front of a priest in a church (his mother was going to have a cow when- no, _if_ she discovered this!). In front of his was Maureen, biting her dark red lips and staring at her shoes. She looked absolutely stunning, wearing a simple white dress that showed only some cleavage- much less than the bride wanted, but enough that she was satisfied in the end- and ended right above her knees. Mark wore a rented tuxedo, only because Maureen wouldn't see it any other way. Behind him stood Angelo, clutching onto the ring he had bought for Maureen. Behind Maureen was Mikayla, who was holding on to two bouquets of carnations and Mark's ring. Of course, Mark hadn't been paying attention to much of what he was supposed to. The priest just read from his little Bible. The four of them were almost asleep standing up.

"Now, the bride and groom have prepared their own vows," the priest said. He turned to Maureen. She smiled and took out a piece of paper from between her breasts. Angelo snorted. Mark just smiled modestly as Maureen unfolded it and cleared her throat dramatically.

"Marky, we've known each other for as long as I can remember," she read. "When we met, I remember because it was the first day of kindergarten. I ended up pushing you down the big slide, and when I reached the bottom, it just so happened that you cushioned my landing."

Angelo tried not to laugh at this. Mikayla, who didn't understand most of the words being used, just smiled.

"When we were in junior high, you invited me to your Bar Mitzvah, where you were officially a man in your religion. I mean, you didn't hit puberty until junior year! Anyway, it was one of the most magical moments in my life, watching this event take place that I would never be able to do..." Maureen cried not to cry at this point. Now she wasn't being histrionic; she was being emotional and serious. "And then you told me that you were HIV positive, and all I could think was about how I wouldn't be able to live my life without you. And now that we know how much time you have left, I'm glad that you chose me out of all of the girls in the world to live the rest of your life with. You could honestly have anyone. I feel like I don't deserve you sometimes because of how amazing you are. You... you complete me." She turned and grabbed the ring from Mikayla. She slid it onto Mark's left ring finger. "Now for the next two years, I'm going to show you off to everyone, Pookie."

Maureen carefully wiped away tears without smudging any of her makeup. Mark reached for his inside jacket pocket for his vows... which wasn't there. He checked every other pocket and realized that he left his vows at home. Maureen looked worried.

"Mark?" the priest asked.

So he decided to improvise them as honestly as he could.

"I forgot my vows," he admitted. "However, I don't need a piece of paper, because all I need is my heart to say anything about you. The fact that I'm in my twenties right now, standing here with you, at our own wedding, is magical. I used to think that you were with me out of pity. You know, since I'm the poor little Jewish boy from Scarsdale that's dying. But then I see that look in your eyes when we're alone, and I know that you really do care about me. You say that you don't deserve me, but I feel like I don't deserve you at all. You go through hell to make sure that AZT. I mean, you're the one who spent years cussing out these two whenever it went off during the middle of the night."

Mark took the ring from Angelo, who he could tell was becoming weepy from their speeches. He slid the ring on Maureen's finger and held her hand in his.

"I used to sit in my room and think to myself, 'Will I lose my dignity? Will someone care? Will I wake tomorrow from this nightmare?' But now, I don't, because I have someone who cares about me, who gives me the dignity I need, and who reminds me that life isn't entirely a nightmare. And that someone it you."

"I now pronounce you husband and wife..."

The priest didn't finish speaking when he noticed that Maureen had jumped into Mark's arms and began kissing him hungrily. Her arms and legs wrapped around his body and Angelo and Mikayla had to help the newlyweds from falling over. The two just shrugged at the priest; they couldn't stop them from making out either.

Now they were Mark and Maureen Cohen.


	12. Chapter 12

Benny woke up that morning feeling more refreshed than he had in years. Ever since he saw the alternate reality where he was always with Alison, and also cheating on his beloved wife with Mimi, he had realized how much more rewarding it had been for him to be a landlord rather than a dilettante. Within the few days he had been spending with the love of his life, he'd been able to buy her a new, more expensive wedding ring. On Saturday, they flew out to Vegas and got remarried. They went to a hotel in Atlantic City on a whim as their unofficial honeymoon until they could get Benny his own passport so they could travel to Europe. They were currently debating between Paris and Venice.

He carefully unwrapped his arms from around Alison's slim waist and sat up. The sun peeked through the blinds and shone on his bare torso. He swung his legs off of the side of the bed and rest his head in his hands. Soon, he felt two arms snake around his waist and shoulders to join together at his chest.

"Mm, good morning, Benny," Alison greeted him. "Sleep well?"

Benny let out a laugh. "Better than I have in the longest time."

"But you're not smiling." Alison pulled away from her husband and frowned. "Why don't you seem happy?"

"Because..."

Benny didn't want to say it out loud. Alison could sense it; she had always been good at reading Benny's expressions, especially when she started suspecting that he had been cheating on her.

"Benjamin Coffin the Third, tell me what it is," she warned. "_Now_," she added when he didn't say anything after a few moments of silence.

"What if they... still hate me?" Benny asked timidly.

"Who?" Alison replied.

"Mark and Collins. Mimi and Roger. Maureen and Joanne. Hell, I think even _Angel_ hates us."

"Sweetie, Angel killed our Akita. Remember seeing Evita splattered all over the sidewalk?"

"Yeah, but Angel grew to hate us after we padlocked the apartment building. And now, he wants to beat my ass into the pavement until I'm beyond dead."

"Benny, so you made a few mistakes in the past," Alison said. She slid off of the bed and kneeled down in front of Benny. She took his hands in hers, rubbing the pads of her thumbs on his warm skin.

"More than a few, baby," Benny reminded her.

"_But_ you have changed. You cheated on me with Mimi and look at us now!"

"I left Mimi again and her best friend tried to kill me. No offense, but that doesn't really scream 'forgiven' to me."

Alison groaned; Benny was always difficult to deal with.

"However," Benny added, "I will try my hardest to get them to accept me for who I really am. And they will see that I'm not the same heartless Benny they used to know."

Alison smiled and hugged her husband.

"But it's going to take a while..."

She groaned and whacked the side of his head with a nearby throwpillow.

* * *

"... I feel like we've grown so much closer ever since we've been married! I mean, we haven't had sex because we ran out of condoms and, you know, Marky has AIDS, so just doing it for the sake of doing it might make me contract AIDS as well, and that would just _kill_ Marky, and..."

As much as Angelo loved Maureen, sometimes, he wanted to pull out a roll of duct tape and cover her mouth with it until he couldn't hear a peep out of her. He regretted that he was stuck next to her in the one class where the teacher actually liked her. Mark had to sit in the front of the room and take a test from last week that he missed because of a doctor's appointment, meaning that he was the one who had no choice but to listen to her blabber nonstop.

"... I think that our kids would be adorable! I already know that we're going to have a daughter! She'll have my curly hair, but it's gonna be the same color as Marky's. And she should have his eyes and my skin tone, because he's really pale. He looks like a sickly pale now, but he was born that white. And if she has my personality with his smarts, she'd be the most popular girl in school without a doubt. I mean, I was, and I made Marky popular because we've been besties for, like, ever! Oh, would she be a performer like me, or a camera person like Marky? I wonder..."

Thankfully for Angelo (and everyone else within a ten-foot radius of them) the bell rang to signal the end of Philosophy. Maureen gathered her things and waited for Angelo to get his while she continued talking about the baby girl she and Mark were destined to have. The conversation was ended when Mark kissed her lips and held them there until Maureen's tongue invaded his mouth. Angelo made a face at that.

"Angelo, I need to speak to you," Collins called out to his student. "Please come to my office immediately." The teacher went into the small conjoining room. Others around them looked at the Latino and wondered what could happen; being called into a professor's office surely meant that you were flunking.

"Ooo, Angelo, you're in trouble!" Maureen taunted as if she were five years old. "I wonder what you did wrong!"

"Me too," Angelo wondered himself. He said goodbye to Mark and Maureen and went into Collins' office. The teacher signalled for him to shut the door and take a seat, which Angelo did.

"Do you know why I called you in here?" Collins asked.

"Did I do something wrong?" Angelo guessed, confused about what he possibly did.

Collins took off his trademark cap and ran a hand through his very short hair. "You really don't know, do you Angel?"

"Angel?" Angelo remembered the professor saying that in the alternate universe he had come up with one day in class that his name was "Angel" but didn't think about it. In fact, when he told Mikayla about it, she said (in Spanish, of course) that she thought it sounded weird when she said it. She pointed out that after the damage he'd caused to Benny's face, there was no way that he could be called an angel.

"You've been acting like there's been nothing going on all of this time," Collins continued. "And why are you wearing glasses?"

"I'm near-sighted," Angelo answered. "I have poor eyesight."

"Yeah, but you wear contacts because you always thought that you looked your worst wearing glasses."

"Um, Professor Collins?"

Angelo tugged at the collar of his shirt nervously as Collins moved around his desk and sat on top of it right in front of him. Their legs were barely touching and their faces were about one foot apart. He began to shift uncomfortably in his seat.

"Sir, I'm a bit uncomfortable right now," he admitted.

"What do you mean, Angel?" Collins asked.

"Stop calling me Angel! My name is Angelo!" The Latino tried to get away, but Collins kept a steady hand on his shoulder and held him back in his seat.

"Hear me out," Collins said.

Against his better judgement, Angelo sat still and agreed to do so.

"When I did the lecture about alternate realities, I meant every word. There is another universe where we are a couple. You're not a student at NYU, and neither are Mark and Maureen. You're a street drummer who carried around a red jacket, leather bag, ten-gallon pickle tub, and drumsticks. We met after I got jumped by a group of thugs who stole my things on Christmas Eve of '89, and we just clicked instantly. You took me to Life Support because we both had AIDS and I introduced you to everyone else. Well, except for Mimi. You knew her before the rest of us. And after that first Life Support meeting, we shared our first kiss, and then we went to Maureen's protest of the rezoning of the eleventh street lot between avenues A and B. Afterwards, we went to the Life Café and we just had the time of our lives. On New Years we broke back into the loft. We were dressed up as James Bond and Pussy Galore and you accidentally told Benny that you murdered his dog. And as time went on, you became sick, and I tried my best to keep you alive, but one night in October... you died in my arms. We buried you on Halloween, and I never got over it. But within that time span of less than one year, I had the best months of my entire existence. Deep down, you know all of this too. But the fact that you don't right now is _killing_ me inside. How can you not remember what we had together Angel? Why don't you love me anymore as much as I love you?"

Angelo was stunned by his teacher's rant. Even more, he was terrified. He saw this on television all of the time; this meant that he was in trouble unless he could scram within the next minute. Otherwise, he would need to write a will and call Mikayla to tell her that he was glad they were best friends.

"Professor Collins, I need to go to work," he stammered.

"Angel, why are you acting like this?" Collins demanded. He reached out to Angelo.

And then Angelo punched him. It wasn't the strength in his arms that caught Collins off-guard, but the fact that Angelo hit him that made him fall backwards and almost land on the other side of the desk. His student scrambled out of his seat and ran out the door. Anyone who didn't know what had just happened would have assumed that the room had been on fire, not that the professor had put moves on his pupil.

* * *

Maureen whistled to herself one of the songs she had heard on the radio recently as she walked up the stairs to herself. Angelo was with her, angrily cursing in Spanish about the hell they'd gone through that day. Maureen noticed that he had been on edge since before the beginning of his shift. When a group of NYU professors came to the restaurant in Angelo's section, Maureen was bribed with a portion of his tips for the night to take them. She did begrudgingly, only because she needed to money to pay rent and to buy Mark his AZT. Disaster had continued when another party involved two careless parents with four monster children who insisted on throwing french fries and flicking ketchup on Maureen. A handful of waiters had to restrain her from tackling the family while the manager asked them to leave.

She walked alone up the last flight of stairs to her own apartment. And she was surprised to find that her new roommate had company over. They were laughing over a story Roger was attempting to finish through his giggles.

"Oh, hey there, Maureen," Roger greeted her.

"Um, hi," she replied. "Who's your friend?"

"This is Joanne."

Joanne waved with a little smile. "Nice to meet you," she said.

Maureen nodded. "You too...?"

"I think that Maureen wants us to give her and Mark some privacy," Roger said to Joanne. "Maybe we can go to your place?"

"Only if you bring your guitar," she purred. Maureen found this amusing as she saw Roger become very slightly uncomfortable by the gesture.

"I wouldn't have it any other way," he said. He grabbed his guitar and led Joanne out of the loft. Maureen shook her head and sat down on the couch.

She thought about class earlier today. Sure, she talked Angelo's ear off, but he was the only person who had listened to her. She wanted a baby. Not just any baby, but Mark's. It would be the most creative, adorable, and absolutely perfect kid in the universe. And it would be theirs. But that was something unspoken between the two of them. They always used condoms during sex. If Maureen was sick or Mark was bleeding, they wouldn't stand near each other and Maureen would sleep on the couch. If Mark impregnated her, she and their potential child would risk having the deadly virus running through their body. That would absolutely kill Mark. But she looked into the subject matter, and she had found medicine that would reduce the risk enough to make her feel relief.

Now all she needed to do was find a way to convince Mark.

"Pookie, can you come out here for a minute?" she asked.

A minute later, Mark emerged from the bedroom. His hair was damp and he was only wearing a white undershirt and blue boxers. He climbed on the couch and smirked.

"Now that you're home and we're alone," he whispered, "we can have some real fun."

He leaned in to kiss her, and Maureen tried not to say it, but she couldn't help herself.

"I want a baby!" she blurted. Mark froze and sat back.

"What?" he asked.

"I want to have a baby," Maureen said. "With you."

"Mo..." Mark shook his head. "We can't do that, you know this."

"Yes we can," Maureen insisted. "There's a medication that helps prevent the mother and child from having AIDS. And I know it will work."

"But what if it doesn't?" Mark turned his back to Maureen.

But she wasn't about to give up yet.

"We both know that you don't have much longer to live," she said. Tears sprang to her eyes as she spoke. "And we both want children too. Are you going to say no to the one chance that we have?"

"Maureen..."

"What else am I going to do when you're gone?"

Maureen broke down now, bawling. She hated being emotional like this, but as the words poured of her mouth, she couldn't help it. She hugged her knees to her chest and cried into them. Soon she felt Mark wrap his arms around her.

"Alright Mo," he told her. "We'll do it."

* * *

Joanne grinned as Roger played the final chord of one of his songs. She clapped enthusiastically as he did.

"Anything else you wanna hear?" he asked. He raised as eyebrow and began playing another song.

"Is this... Musetta's Waltz?" she asked.

"I see you've heard of _La Boheme_," Roger said as he strum the strings with his pick.

"It's my favorite musical."

"Then you, Joanne, have excellent taste."

Joanne beamed. She was falling hard for Roger Davis. The fact that he could play an instrument was making her crush worse. He kept on giving her flirty glances every few moments and she'd wink in reply. He was almost the complete opposite of guys like Steve and Tom Collins. That made him perfect in her book.

"I have this one song that always triggers something in everyone who hears, if you know what I mean," Roger told her. "I think you'll really love it."

Joanne (who misinterpreted what he meant) kept her enthusiasm bottled up. "Let's hear it," she replied.

Roger began this new song and sang, "_Your eyes as we said our goodbyes..._"

Joanne tried to figure out what the trigger Roger meant was about when she saw exactly what it was.

_Running into Maureen at a bar late one night._

_Flirting with her over a few beers- than several shots._

_Taking her home and making her scream her name._

_Figuring out that she was already in a relationship with a man and swearing to secrecy about their affair._

_After many months, convincing Maureen to dump Mark and move in with her._

_Helping plan a protest for the love of her life._

_Somewhat noticing her girlfriend's loose behavior._

_Being stranded at the empty lot without a clue about how to set up anything, or what RCA meant._

_Watching as Mark wandered into the lot, just as surprised as she was when they learned each other's names._

_Realizing that they had a lot more in common when it came to their relationship with Maureen._

_Dancing the tango with Mark, even though she thought he wasn't as skilled in the art compared to her._

_Thanking him when they were patched._

_Maureen calling her Pookie and now knowing the true meaning of it._

_Shining a light on the only star in her eyes- Maureen._

_Having to put away all of the equipment in the snow while Maureen sat inside with their friends._

_Watching from outside as Maureen kissed Mark and mooned Benny._

_Finding a padlock on the apartment building._

_Breaking it off with Maureen._

_Searching for a possible loophole in their dilemma._

_Getting back together with Maureen._

_Breaking into the loft and being caught by Benny while celebrating her relationship and the new year._

_Breaking up with Maureen._

_Getting back together with Maureen._

_Repeat._

_Helping Mark land a job at Buzzline._

_Having Maureen propose to her._

_Breaking it off at their engagement party._

_Visiting Angel at the hospital while he died while trying not to make eye contact with Maureen._

_Going to his funeral while trying not to make eye contact with Maureen._

_Going to the cemetery while trying not to make eye contact with Maureen._

_Fighting with Maureen and trying to make her see the mistakes they've made._

_Crying while being comforted by the love her life._

_Letting Maureen move back in._

_Desperately trying to find Mimi._

_Finding her on Christmas Eve at the park and carrying her to the loft._

_Standing by and praying that she wouldn't die while Roger played "Your Eyes"._

_Watching Mimi die and then breathe again._

"Oh my god," she whispered as it dawned on her.

"_... I can see it in your eyes_," Roger sang. He stopped and looked at a shocked Joanne.

"All this time," she said. "I can't believe it."

"It's a lot to take in, I know," Roger said.

"Collins told me everything and I didn't believe him."

"The truth is hard to accept-"

"Oh my god, _I slept with Collins!_" Joanne screeched.

Roger looked scared, then confused, and then ended up laughing.

"Thank god I told you before you tried to screw me!"


	13. Chapter 13

"How did I end up sleeping with Collins?" Joanne asked herself for the hundredth time over the past day. She plopped down at the bar in front of where Roger was cleaning two shot glasses.

"Every time you say that, I'm going to need to pour us both another drink so that we can both get that image out of our heads," Roger said as he actually did pour a first round for the two of them. "And for the record, Miss Big-Shot Lawyer, you are paying for the both of us for this."

"I'm still a Bohemian on the inside," she reminded him, "so I'm still able to hold my liquor."

Three rounds later, she was able to hold her word, while Roger ended his shift and joined her at the other side of the bar. Roger signalled for the other bartender who picked up after him to give them another refill. The slightly older man did so begrudgingly.

"So, is your friend here single?" he asked, grinning at Joanne.

"She's not into your type," the lawyer replied.

"Why, because I'm a bartender?"

"No, because you're a _guy_."

"Oh." The bartender sheepishly moved further away. Roger and Joanne shared one quick look before laughing hysterically.

"Oh my gosh, I forgot how much fun it was watching guys hit on you and Maureen!" Roger roared.

Joanne let out a couple more giggles before her face hardened. "How is Maureen?" she asked quietly. "I know she's dating Mark now, but is she... you know... still her usual, flirty self?"

Roger gulped. "Joanne, there's something you need to know about Mo."

"Oh god, she's cheating on Mark, isn't she?" Joanne tried to hide her excitement, but her drunken state couldn't and she ended up cheering for that and went to offer Roger a hi-five.

"Actually, they got married two days ago," Roger explained. "When I met them, I had no clue about, well, you know, the other place. By the time I moved in, it was the night before they got married, and I realized too late what was going on before they came in with Maureen carrying Mark bridal-style."

Joanne furrowed her brows for a minute. "Don't you mean that Mark carried Maureen?"

"I know what I said, and it was quite a scene too." Roger tried not to chuckle at Maureen's unhuman strength carrying her husband without any hesitation in her wedding dress.

"I bet she looked beautiful," Joanne said with a weak smile. "I can't believe she was able to commit to someone, especially Mark! And after all we've been through..."

Roger nodded and snapped to get the bartender's attention again. He refilled the glasses without a glance at Joanne this time. The songwriter held up his index finger while he drank the alcohol and had the poor boy pour him another. Joanne noticed what Roger was doing; he'd done this with Mimi on several occasions.

"There's something else you're not telling me," she said.

Roger's response was drinking his third shot within the past minute. To other patrons who didn't know him, it was a miracle he wasn't passed out yet.

"Roger," Joanne warned in her most stern voice.

Roger sighed. "Mark is dying of AIDS, and both of them are trying to have a kid in about an hour."

Joanne's eyes widened. "But she would get sick too."

"She's taking something she found somewhere that's supposed to prevent it and they both talked to a doctor. They were given the okay to go for it."

The lawyer nodded slowly and then reached for both her drink and Roger's. She needed it desperately at the moment.

* * *

Angelo was pondering using an entire roll of duct tape and a muzzle in order to get Maureen to finally shut up. Ever since she talked to Mark about having a kid, that was the only thing they talked about. He was given too many detailed and vivid details about their sex life to date as well. It included times such as their first time in high school after Mark finally hit puberty; to when they were first caught by Mark's sister over a year later when she and her boyfriend walked in on them and agreed to not rat them out because the happened to be holding a joint in her hand at the moment; and, worst, to the several times she would break into campus and have sex with in the classrooms of teachers who pissed either of them off. All he had gained from the hours-long gabfest was the knowledge of which classrooms to try to avoid in the near future.

But that wasn't where his mind was entirely. He was focused on Professor Collins. After their encounter, Angelo had been approached by several peers, all asking if he had done something wrong or was on drugs. He had constantly denied them all suggestions and was fortunate that none of them suggested the truth of the matter about his teacher trying to put moves on the several-years-younger student. In class, he persuaded Mark and Maureen to sit in the far back corner of the room. They agreed, only because Maureen would be able to hide her Walkman and Mark needed to finish a screenplay he was working on for another class. Collins didn't do anything to stop them and actually ignored the trio.

"ANGELO!" Maureen screamed in the Latino's ear. He shrieked in response and jumped back. The drama queen raised an eyebrow.

"What?!" he shouted back.

"You've been a zombie for the past two blocks!" Maureen cried. She suddenly stopped them before they ended up walking in front of the path of an all-too-familiar Range Rover.

"Watch it!" Benny shouted.

"Watch where the hell you're driving, asshole!" Maureen snapped as she dragged Angelo in front of the yuppie scum's path.

Angelo stopped for a moment to use his heel to break one of the headlights. "Why don't you watch that, motherfucker!" he exclaimed in anger.

"Angelo! What are you doing?" Maureen asked. She grabbed his arm and ran to their building. Once inside, she smacked his shoulder and starting accusing, "Are you high?"

"No," Angelo assured. "I'm just... really out of it right now. Deep shit, you know?"

"I'm supposed to be upstairs with something buried deep in me, so please tell me what it is or we'll both end up suffering," Maureen threatened.

Angelo groaned; he knew there was no way out of dealing with this diva. "Professor Collins has been hitting on me," he confessed.

"Whoa." Maureen took a few moments to keep herself collect and asked, "What makes you so sure?"

"He doesn't call me 'Angelo' or 'Mr. Dumott Schunard' like other professors," he said. "Yesterday, when he called me into his office, he sat really close to me and had his hand on my shoulder the whole time."

"That's how rape begins!" Maureen cried. She was smiling , proud that she actually knew that.

Her Latino friend shook his head and decided to continue his story. "Anyway, he called me 'Angel' four times and kept talking about some other universe where we were a couple and that I died in his arms, and, oh, Maureen, he looked so serious! It terrified me! He said that I shouldn't wear glasses because I like contacts more too! He's never seen me without glasses on my face, so how could he know! And then I panicked and I punched him so hard that he fell backwards over the desk!"

For once, Maureen was stunned speechless.

"You hit the professor?" was the first thing she asked.

"Mo!" Angelo whined. "Did you not here me? And I had to! Who knows what would've happened it I didn't!"

Maureen didn't say anything. She stood on her toes to reach Angelo's height and slipped off his glasses. She smiled and said, "You look nice without them. Maybe you should wear contacts more often." She put them back on his face and skipped up the stairs. Angelo shook his head and followed up at his own pace.

* * *

Mikayla never did good in crowded areas full of loud English-speaking people. And at this new place, which The Man called the Cat Scratch Club, was even worse. It was full to the brim of loud music with an echoing bass and multicolored lights bouncing around the room. There were men waving around green paper with familiar numbers and unfamiliar faces printed on them. Girls with barely any part of the body covered pranced around a stage and spun on poles. Some girls snatched drinks and money from the men greedily. One of them noticed Mikayla and slunk off of the stage. She wore boyshorts, a very tiny halter top, high boots, and nothing else, which made the Latina very uncomfortable. The girl ran her hand through her long curls of brown and pink hair.

"Are you here for him?" she asked. When Mikayla didn't reply, she changed her phrase to, "_¿El hombre que enviar?_" (_Did The Man send you?_)

Mikayla now understood and nodded. Her hand was seized and the girl was pulled to the back room. It had a thick layer of perfume and hairspray particles floating in the air. Girls were either wearing robes, nothing, or their underwear. They fought for the ability to see their own reflections long enough to put on thick coats of red lipstick and black mascara. But when one girl spotted the one exotic dancer with Mikayla, they all flocked to her in an instance. Shortly, Mikayla had made a wealthy profit off of these girls, who almost all started shooting up the second they had the baggies of white powder in their grasp. Now they all fought over needles and lighters.

"_¿Por qué eligió ser un traficante de drogas?_" the girl with two hair colors asked. (_What made you choose being a drug dealer?_)

Mikayla shrugged. "_Él fue la primera persona que entendía lo que estaba diciendo_," she said. (_He was the first person who understood what I was saying_.)

The girl smirked. "_Si alguna vez necesita un mejor trabajo, acaba de llegar aquí, y me aseguraré de que te contraten_." With a wink, the girl led Mikayla out of the club and went back to do her job. (_If you ever need a better job, just come here, and I'll make sure you get hired._)

Mikayla smiled at the girl's friendly attitude, much unlike her other clients, and walked back toward her apartment, wielding her pocket knife just in case; you never knew in Alphabet City.

* * *

"Wow," Mark moaned as he rolled onto his back. Maureen rolled onto her side and ran her fingertips across his pale bare chest.

"It feels so much more different without that annoying piece of rubber between us," she told him. "_So_ much better." She lied her head down on Mark's chest and listened to his heartbeats.

"No kidding," he breathed.

"And in nine months, we'll be looking into the eyes of our newborn baby daughter," Maureen added.

"Newborn baby _daughter_?" Mark laughed. "How are you so sure that it's going to be a baby girl?"

"I just know," Maureen said without much reason behind her statement.

"Well, we're going to have to name our baby after my grandmother Esther."

"Why? I don't want a daughter named Esther!"

"Not her name entirely! It's Jewish tradition; you name your next child after the first letter of the last family member who died."

"Well, it's not going to be Esther!"

Mark just shook his head with a smile and kissed Maureen's forehead. "Whatever you say, baby."


	14. Chapter 14

"Ah, Benjamin, good to see you!" Mr. Grey boomed when his son-in-law entered the room. The nervous slumlord greeted him with a man hug. Naturally, his boss had taken a huge liking to him when Alison said they were getting married, and they even helped him see who he really was. The jolly old man was grateful that their tiny family was once again reunited. It also meant that now they had to keep their Akita, Evita, away from any open windows, and since it was later in the year, the windows were kept shut more often.

"You said that there was a new project you were working on?" Benny asked.

"Ah, yes, there is." Mr. Grey took the bronze key from his set of keys and unlocked the top drawer of the closest filing cabinet. He pulled out a rolled up blueprint and unrolled it for Benny to see.

"This looks familiar," he mumbled.

"It should," Mr. Grey said. "Remember that protest at the lot we bought Christmas Eve?"

He remembered that event _very_ well. He had to admit that the performance put on by the girl on the motorcycle was quite brilliant. However, the riot that had broke out along with it wasn't his favorite memory. He remembered Benny and the other investor with them had shielded him from flying glass and smaller fights breaking out among the police and Bohemians. The three of them tried to finish their business at the restaurant on tenth and A, the Life Café. However, they all flooded the place and were a disgrace in his opinion. The first thing that offended him was when the Latina giggled at Evita's death. The second was the protesting girl standing on the table and showing him her backside and two stars tattooed on her pale skin. It was the drag queen and her boyfriend that made him get up and leave. Watching her hump him while saying "sodomy" and then pretending to be going down on him before getting slapped - all while sharing a joint between the two of them - drew the line for them. He stood up and was ushered away by Benny, who shouted for their waiter to bring them the check before anything else offensive happened.

"Yes," Benny answered. "What about it?"

"This is the blueprint for the building," Mr. Grey told him. "I plan on opening a Blockbuster there, you know, so people can rent movies."

"That's excellent, sir."

"And you're going to go and make sure that nothing gets in the way. Or if the constructors and electricians mess up."

"Why me?" Benny whined. "I'll get shot by people there! They know who I am! Why not send someone else who has a better chance of not having flaming papers thrown at them?"

"Because, Benjamin, you know these people," Mr. Grey answered. "They're the people who you've lived among for years. If you have to, you can dress like them so they don't grow suspicious."

"I think I'll manage," Benny assured him. "I can get the job done. Bohemians usually end up getting drunk around four in the afternoon anyway."

Mr. Grey raised an eyebrow at Benny suggestively.

"_I_ don't," Benny said quickly. "I-I mean, I _used_ to, bu-but I haven't had a drink in such a long time, and I haven't had anything but a couple of glasses of wine since before I had the interview, a-and -"

"It's alright, Benjamin, I was just joking around with you," Mr. Grey laughed.

Benny let out a few nervous laughs of his own as he grabbed the blueprint and walked out of the office.

"Oh, Alison," Mr. Grey said to himself as he pulled a cigar from his pocket and lit it up. "You really do know how to choose your men wisely."

* * *

Maureen held her purse extra close to her body today. Although both Mark and Angelo (and technically Mikayla too, from what Angelo reiterated to her in class) said that she'd need to wait at least a week before she tried any pregnancy tests. They said that she wouldn't get any accurate results, and even suggested to wait to see if she starts her period. However, Maureen Johnson was far from patient. Right after class, she walked told Mark to go film the leaves changing colors while she went to prepare for work. He agreed, and she had the day off. Instead, she went to the drug store near campus and bought several pregnancy tests. She took one at the Life Café about ten minutes ago, unable to wait another minute, in her typical Maureen way. It came out negative, just as the boys said it probably would this soon. She couldn't wait eighteen hours to find out the results. How was she supposed to wait for another week?

Before going into her building, Maureen noticed the Range Rover from yesterday driving down the street. Her gaze followed it to where it parked: right in front of the vacant lot full of many tent city residents. Over the course of the past few days, they've been kicked out and told to relocate to the sidewalks and alleys. She noticed as Benjamin Coffin, the new landlord and husband of her mortal enemy, Alison Grey, exit the car and go inside the lot. It made her skin crawl. He used to be a dilettante. How could he turn his back against his fellow Bohemians? She wasn't going to take it, and she found herself storming to the lot. She found Benny pointing out random areas to some construction men.

That didn't stop Maureen.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" she shouted. Benny turned around and saw the drama queen heading his way. His eyes widened at that.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"I should be asking you the same thing," Maureen retorted. "What is so goddamn important that you needed to evict all of these innocent people from their homes to put it right here?"

Benny said his answer very quietly under his breath.

"What was that?"

"A Blockbuster!"

Maureen let out a laugh. "Are you freaking kidding me?" she spat. "No one around here can even afford to eat, let alone rent a movie! Or pay the rent for your shitty apartments!"

"Goddamnit. Maureen, listen, this doesn't concern you."

"Yes it does!" Maureen threw her purse on the ground and got right in Benny's face. "You used to be the good guy. And then you randomly switched teams. So now, we all want to kick your ass. And I want to be the first one to get a good hit."

"That may be, but that's not going to stop any of these men hired to tear apart the inside of this building." Benny leaned in and whispered, "Checkmate."

"Oh yeah?" Maureen looked around and saw a group of men about to work on taking apart a stage. She quickly climbed on top of it.

"Get down!" Benny ordered.

"I'm not bowing down to Benny the bulldog!" Maureen shouted.

Many of the homeless outside came in to see what the fuss was about. Benny groaned and smacked his forehead with the palm of his hand. His father-in-law wasn't going to be pleased when he heard about this.

"Don't boo him!" Maureen continued. "_Moo_ him! Come on! Moo! Moo! Moo! _Moo with me!_"

A few people mooed.

"Yes, who was that?" she screamed. "Come on and moo with me! Moo! Moo!"

Now more people came in and mooed with her.

"_Let it rip, New York City!_"

Amongst the mooing and angered workers, something familiar came to Maureen.

_Meeting Mark after moving to New York to pursue her dream as a performing artist._

_Dating him._

_Meeting Benny, Collins, and Roger._

_Moving in with them and becoming close._

_Occasionally flirting with other guys, although she insisted it was nothing more._

_Meeting Joanne at a bar and drinking as much booze as she could afford with the new woman._

_Later going on to her house and having the best sex in her life._

_Keeping up the affair until being forced to tell Mark._

_Moving in with Joanne._

_Planning a protest when finding out Benny bought the lot._

_Firing Mark as her production manager._

_Running around New York City to find the perfect outfit for protesting while leaving Joanne to work out all technical difficulties._

_Also buying a motorcycle, which she later rode into the lot._

_Performing her protest, "Over the Moon"._

_Dealing with the riot afterwards._

_Going to the Life and mooning Benny in revenge._

_Dancing on tables._

_Kissing Mark._

_Getting dumped by Joanne._

_Getting back together with her on New Years Eve right before breaking into the loft._

_Getting caught by Benny and drinking with him._

_Getting dumped by Joanne._

_Getting back together with Joanne._

_Repeat._

_Going to Mark's interview and forced to sit outside._

_Later proposing to Joanne._

_Breaking it off at the engagement party when Joanne accuses her of flirting too much._

_Visiting Angel at the hospital, even though Joanne was there too._

_Going to his funeral and making a speech, meaning every word._

_Fighting with Joanne at the cemetery._

_Consoling a weeping Joanne._

_Getting back together with the love of her life._

_Trying desperately to find Mimi._

_Finding Mimi in the park on Christmas Eve and making Joanne carry her to the loft._

_Watching Roger sing his song and Mimi die._

_Watching Mimi come to life._

_Hugging Joanne and her friends while watching Mark's new film._

Maureen gasped, ignoring the mooing from the homeless. She slowly stepped down from the stage and walked back to get her bag. Her entire life was just a lie to her now.

"You saw it too," Benny said. "I thought you would. It's a good thing too -"

_SLAP!_

Maureen backhanded Benny.

"You bastard," she said. "After choosing her over your friends, don't expect any sympathy from me. Or Marky, or Roger, or Collins."

"But what are you doing here?" Benny asked.

"Protesting the rezoning of the eleventh street lot between A and -"

"No, I mean why are you here and not with you-know-who?"

Maureen thought about it. Why was she here? There was someone way more important she should have been with at the moment.

"Thanks, yuppie scum," she chirped before running off.

Benny smiled and nodded before realizing what Maureen had called him, and that he had to deal with the riot bound to begin.

* * *

Collins was out of booze.

Rarely did this occur, but over the past few days, he'd been depressed. After being rejected by Angelo, who was trying hard to avoid the professor, he had drunk himself into a stupor every night. He had shown up to class hungover and taught out of the book for once. It scared a few of his students, who knew that was not his method. However, Stoli had been controlling his mind.

Until now, when the last drop was gone, and he wasn't getting his next paycheck for another couple of days.

He threw the bottles away and was about to roll a joint when there was a knock at the door. He sighed and opened it to find Maureen standing there.

"Maureen?" he asked. He had to remember that she didn't know who he was here, otherwise he'd find this completely normal for her.

"Hello," she greeted him.

"How do you know where I live?" he questioned.

"Because this is yours and Angel's apartment," the diva answered with a grin.

"You remember!" Collins cried. He picked up Maureen and spun her around.

"Whoa, careful!" she scolded playfully. "Potential bun in the oven here!"

"What are you talking about?" he asked.

Maureen smiled. "Marky and I are trying to have a baby."

"That's great news!"

Then it hit him; Maureen belonged to Joanne, not Mark.

"Oh," he said. "Scratch that. I mean, it's great that you and Joanne will be able to raise this kid, but I think that you and Mark will end up fighting over custody of the child, which I don't doubt you'll end up winning in that battle."

"That's not the problem," Maureen told him. She bit her lip and held up her left hand. "This is."

Although Collins wasn't too smart when it came to hand jewelry, or any type of jewelry in general, he recognized the wedding ring in an instance.

"That is definitely a problem," he said. "I don't think that's one you three can really work out."

"It's not just that," Maureen added.

"Oh, no, what else could possibly make this worse?"

Maureen too a deep breath. "Mark has AIDS."

That was something Collins had forgotten about. He was used to Mark being the only HIV-negative one that he couldn't fathom the little Jewish filmmaker to be sick. Then again, he wasn't sick in this world.

"Do you know if you're clean?" he asked.

"I'm going to take a test in a few weeks," Maureen answered. "But... Mark doesn't have much longer... He might not even see our baby!" Maureen began to wail. She flung herself into Collins' arms. Her best friend hugged her and rubbed her back like he had every other time she became distraught.

No matter what universe they lived in, nothing could change that.

* * *

"_Nunca me defrauda, Mikayla_," The Man said as he was handed a thick wad of money. (_You never disappoint me, Mikayla._) He counted the green bills slowly.

The Latina tapped her foot. "_¿Cuál es mi parte?_" she demanded. (_What's my cut?_)

The Man laughed. "_¿Comó podría olvidarlo?_" (_How could I forget?_) He counted out her portion and handed it over.

Soon, another one of his workers walked down the alley. He went up to The Man and started speaking in English, which made Mikayla frown. He handed over a much smaller sum of money and stood by, an anxious look growing on his face.

"What the hell?" The Man spat. "You said you sold six bags today!"

"I did!" the other guy insisted.

"Then why do I only have five hundred? You're holding back on me, bastard!"

"I only took what I earned!"

"Bullshit!"

The Man pulled out his gun and hit the guy with the butt of it repeatedly. He then shoved him back against the wall and kicked him a few times. The worker was spewing blood and gasping for air. Mikayla tried not to scream at the horrible scene taking place. It ended when The Man threw the stranger against the wall and (Mikayla hoped) knocked him unconscious.

"_Algunas personas me dan por sentado,_" The Man said. "_La semana pasada, alguien intendó dejarme. Se puso mucho peor._" (_Some people take me for granted. Last week, someone tried to leave me. He got it much worse._)

The only thing Mikayla thought was worse than getting beaten the way she saw was death. She nodded calmly and listened to The Man.

"_Una vez que estás conmigo, estás atrapado conmigo,_" he continued. He looked at Mikayla and put his hand under her chin. "_Menos mal que hay gente como ustedes que entienden cómo funcionan las empresas._" (_Once you're in business with me, you're stuck with me. Good thing I have people like you who understand how business works._)

Mikayla nodded. She had originally planned on telling The Man that she was going to switch over to work at the Cat Scratch Club. However, after watching what just happened, she decided against that. She valued her own life more than a better job. The Man would hunt her down and kill her too, just like he said he did to his client. She would also be risking Angelo's life as well. That wasn't something she wanted to do. She stood there as The Man left the alley.

This was the life she chose. Now she had no choice but to keep on living it.


	15. Chapter 15

Collins' fingertips flipped through the pages of the book in his hands. In fact, he had about seven other ones sitting on his desk. The bottom three, all of which he had read, were about alternate universes. However, after further research, he discovered that his hypothesis was completely flawed as he researched the entirely wrong subject matter. As it turns out, he meant to study _parallel_ universes all along, and therefore fixed himself so he was now reading the right material. Of course, that required a couple more trips to the library, but it was worth it. The dean knew he was still here, and rather than argue with the usually zany teacher, he just said to let the janitors know when he was finished. It was currently ten at night and by the looks of it, he wasn't going anywhere for quite a while.

Then there was a knock at the door.

Collins assumed it was one of the janitors, who had cleaned his office a bit earlier. He marked his page and opened the door, asking, "What'd you forget?"

"Who I was."

Now Collins wasn't easily surprised by spontaneous people showing up at his door, even when Maureen had showed up last night after remembering the parallel universe; however, Benny was the exception.

"What are you doing here?" he asked. "Don't tell me that you own NYU too."

"I see your sense of humor hasn't changed," Benny said with a smile.

"What do you want? And what happened to your face?" Collins motioned toward the several cuts on Benny's cheek surrounded by an ugly bruise. There were even a few stitches.

"This?" Benny let out a laugh. "Maureen remembered yesterday and I happened to be in the room. I forgot how many rings that girl wears. One of them went a little deep in my skin. What the hell is on that girl's hand?"

"A wedding ring." Collins stepped back and Benny came into his office. The professor sat in his comfortable rolling chair while his ex-friend took a seat in a plastic seat stolen from another professor's office.

"I didn't know that Maureen and Joanne got married," Benny said.

"That's because they didn't. Maureen married Mark. When she realized that, she didn't take it too well."

"That's terrible."

"Not to be rude, but you haven't answered my question. What do you want? And why are you even here?"

"Because nothing is right anymore." Benny ran his hand over his bald head and sighed. "I know that you guys still hate me, but not everyone knows what's going on."

"I know," Collins agreed. "I have Mark and Angel as students, and neither of them know what's going on. They think nothing more of me than as a professor. I scared Angel too - and here, she's just Angelo!"

"I lived with Angelo, and Mikayla - well, here, that's Mimi's name. She doesn't speak any English, and he was our translator. It turned out, when I said I was gonna move out to live with Alison, his reaction was worse than yours."

"What was worse than having us throwing your shit down the stairwell?"

Collins remembered that. Mark had filmed him, Roger, Maureen, and April grabbing all of Benny's belongings and dropping them down the stairwell. Not on the steps, but right down the middle onto the ground below. When Benny came home from work, he was less than pleased, but had no way of giving them a piece of his mind. After all, there was only two keys, and he didn't have either.

"Actually, I wish he'd done that," Benny admitted. "He beat the shit out of me."

Collins burst out laughing. "My little sweet Angel beat the shit out of you?! Ha, oh my god, that's too perfect!"

"I'm glad that you enjoy my pain," the yuppie scowled.

"I'm sorry! All I can see is my girl with her Santa dress and zebra tights hitting you with her drumsticks and pickle tub!" the professor cackled.

Benny had to admit that was a funny image. He laughed along with Collins. For once, the two men could finally agree on something without much arguing.

* * *

Joanne ran one hand through her hair. The other clutched a nearly empty bottle of wine. She'd been drunk for about twenty minutes by now... for two hours; she couldn't really read her watch with her blurred vision. Her whole life had become a disaster. She'd slept with Collins - _Collins!_ Of all people, she chose her Honeybear's _gay best friend!_ - and then pined over him for absolutely nothing. She thought he was crazy and then tried to hit on Roger. If Collins wasn't bad enough, it had to be_ Roger_ next. Thankfully, Roger gave her the heads up about her parallel life before she tried to do anything to him. She still needed to apologize to Collins for slapping him across the face a few days ago. As if things couldn't possibly get worse, she found out that Maureen married Mark. The icing on the cake was that Maureen and Mark were trying to conceive a kid. If Mark was HIV positive, as Roger had mentioned, then Maureen had a great risk of getting the disease as well. Joanne didn't want to live the rest of her life knowing that the love of her life was slowly dying. Did it happen? Did he infect her? Is she pregnant?

There was a knock on the door. Three short rasps. The shadows underneath the door showing two thin shapes bouncing around from the other side. It took Joanne a few moments to get herself up off of the floor and drag her feet to the door.

She couldn't believe it when she saw her Honeybear standing before her when she opened the door.

"Maureen?" she asked. However, in her drunken slurred speech, it came out as, "M'reen?"

"Hi, Pookie," Maureen greeted her with a smile.

"What'ah doo-ig here?"

"You're drunk."

Joanne nodded her head. "An' yer sessy."

Maureen giggled and winked. "You bet your ass I am." She put her arms on Joanne's shoulders and steadied her before kissing her on the lips. Joanne tripped over her own feet as she shut the door and tried to lead Maureen to the bedroom. The diva giggled and pulled the lawyer there by the tie around her neck and their lips still attached.

* * *

"_¡Vamos, nena, baila!_" Angelo crowed. Mikayla did, right in the middle of the sidewalk, and her best friend started cackling. "_¡Woo, nena, eso se tan sexy! ¡Trabájalo, chica!_" (_Come on, baby, dance! Woo, baby, that's so sexy! Work it girl!_)

"_¡Voy a vomitar!_" Mikayla giggled. (_I'm gonna puke!_) The two friends had been able to finally afford to go out for a night on the town. They'd just left the Key Club. There were women climbing all over Angelo, while the men avoided Mikayla (they were all The Man's clients and they knew how dangerous the little Latina could be). It was around one in the morning. They had another five blocks to go, and they were lucky they could still walk at this point.

"_¿A dónde vamos?_" Mikayla asked. (_Where are we going?_)

"_De vuelta a nuestro apartamento, tonto,_" Angelo said. He poked her nose and she tried to bite his fingertip. (_Back to our apartment, silly._)

"_¿Es que Kirsten?_" Mikayla grabbed Angelo's arm and shook it hard. (_Is that Kirsten?_)

"_No se,_" he replied. "_Quizás._" (_I don't know. Maybe._) Angelo waved his arms and called out, "Kirsten!"

A squeal could be heard from down the street and a girl ran into Angelo's arms. She had blonde hair with blue streaks. She wore a black shirt with an older band on it. For some reason, she had leather sleeves covering her forearms, the rest of what was assumed to have been a jacket never present. Her jeans were staying around her waist thanks to a piece of rope she'd found in a dumpster. Her boots were falling apart and better than the old duct tape sneakers. She was in Angelo's Philosophy class, a well-known hungry and frozen Bohemian. She was also Angelo's ex-girlfriend.

"Hey baby!" she gushed. "What's going on?"

"Headi-heading home," Angelo answered. "Me and Mikayla are drunk."

"_Me duelen los pies,_" Mikayla whined. She took off her boots and was now walking with two horribly mismatched socks on her feet. (_My feet hurt._)

"We are going... going... oh, home!" Angelo continued. "You wanna make sure we... uh, get there all safe and stuff? Maybe we can have a sleep over...?" Angelo tried his hardest to wink, and after failing to do so a few times, Kirsten giggled.

"Sure," she said with a successful wink. She put her arms around Angelo's waist to help him stand and they walked back to his apartment with a wasted and slightly disoriented Mikayla following, shoes in hand.


	16. Chapter 16

The Man stood in the center of Tompkins Square Park as casually as he could manage. A group of young kids were running around in what seemed to be a very serious game of tag, while their mothers sat on the nearby benches and chattered mindlessly. One of his regulars, a tiny Asian girl who was always shivering, coughed and revealed that she had around two-fifty in her hand. The Man reached into his jean pocket and pulled out a gram. When the girl gave his a skeptical look, he threatened to walk away before the girl wrestled her money into his hands and ran off with the smack. He grinned and tucked the money away. Another satisfied customer.

Mikayla walked up to him and pulled out a rubberbanded stack of cash. "_Aquí tiene, jefe,_" she said. "_Un idiota en la Avenieda C trató de engañarme._" She flashed her switchblade. "_Ese hijo de puta no va a pensar dos veces antes de meterse conmigo otra vez._" (_Here you go, boss. Some asshole on Avenue C tried to trick me. That son of a bitch won't think twice about messing with me again._)

The Man laughed and started counting out his money. "_Es por eso que eres mi favorita,_" he told her. (_This is why you're my favorite._) He counted out eight hundred and handed it over to Mikayla.

"_¿Qué es esto?_" she demanded. (_What's this?_)

"_Su corte_." (_Your cut._)

"_¿Está ocultando algo?_" (_Are you holding out on me?_)

The Man laughed and backed up. "_Fue un día lento_," he said, shrugging. "_Mejor suerte la próxima vez, cariño._" (_It was a slow day. Better luck next time, sweetheart_.) He made it about ten steps away before he was violently shoved against a tree with a switchblade to his neck.

"_Dame mi dinera ahora!_" Mikayla snapped. (_Give me my money now!_)

"_Puta loca, yo no tengo nada más para usted!_" (_Crazy bitch, I don't have anything else for you!_) He pushed Mikayla off and brushed off his jacket. "Crazy bitch," he murmured, knowing she wouldn't understand a word he was saying.

"_Te jodan._" (_Fuck you._) Mikayla spat on his face and walked away. After wiping the glob of spit off his face, The Man followed her.

"_¿Dónde diablos crees que vas?_" he shouted. (_Where the hell do you think you're going?_) He grabbed Mikayla's arm and yanked her back, but rather than see a look of anger or fear on her face, he saw something else.

_Running away from home as a twelve-year-old boy._

_Being taken in by a druglord in New York._

_Forced to sell drugs and himself, learning from his new guardian._

_Taking over when he was only sixteen when his mentor was murdered by an outraged client._

_Over the years becoming the best dealer in the Lower East Side, his name now anonymous, just as he wanted it to be._

_Meeting a new face, the lovely April Ericsson._

_Soon also meeting her new beau, Roger Davis._

_Slowly making more daily because of both of their obsessive addictions to smack._

_Suddenly not seeing them anymore, but meeting a new person, Mimi Marquez._

_On Christmas Eve being surrounded by addicted homeless kids, and Mimi._

_Having a short confrontation with Roger before tending to his customer's needs._

_Finding Mimi one week later and waving drugs in her face before she snatched them up._

_Continuing to sell to her, until Roger makes her stop._

_Encouraging her to come out of rehab and start using again._

_The upcoming Christmas Eve, he was killed in a hit-and-run on fourteenth street._

"_¿Qué le pasa a usted?_" Mikayla asked. (_What's the matter with you?_) She freed herself from The Man's grasp. He snapped out of his daze and stared at Mikayla. What was she doing? As much as he needed her, he feared he'd end up dead again. That was a path he didn't need to drag a nineteen-year-old girl down.

"_Dejar_," he ordered. (_Leave._)

Mikayla raised an eyebrow. "_¿Qué?_"

The Man grabbed Mikayla's shoulders and shook her. "_Ir al Cat Scratch Club y conseguir un trabajo allí. Diles que yo te envío. Confía en mí, no le rechazaría._" (_Go to the Cat Scratch Club and get a job there. Tell them I sent you. Trust me, they won't turn you down._)

He let go of Mikayla. She stared at him, obviously confused. "_¿Por qué me dices esto?_" she asked. There was a hint of fear in her tone.

"_Porque me estoy salvando_." (_Because I'm saving you._) He reached into his pocket and pulled out a few hundred dollars, which he handed to Mikayla.

"_Gracias,_" she said. She quickly hugged The Man before running off. The drug dealer just watched, praying this would change his destiny from death. His line of vision was soon blocked by a short guy with his arm held out and money in his hands.

Sure, he saved Mikayla from the dark world of drugs, but it didn't mean that he wouldn't stop dealing.

* * *

Within the past ten minutes, Maureen had woken up, ran into the bathroom to get a quick shower (showers lasted as long as the hot water did), searched the cabinets for food and only produced a small amount of Captain Crunch, fought with Roger for it and won it in the end, finally remembered she was wearing a towel, ran off to get dressed, and was now hopping across the room trying to slip on one of her leather boots. Meanwhile, Roger was laying on the couch, strumming his guitar and enjoying watching Maureen running around. Soon, an AZT machine went off. Out of instinct, Roger reached for his beeper, only to remember that he didn't have one and it was Mark's. He would never get used to Mark being infected.

"Mark! AZT break!" Maureen shouted as she searched through her giant purse. Finally, she found what she wanted and hid it underneath her shirt before running back into the bathroom, cutting off Mark and locking his out.

"Maureen!" the filmmaker shouted, banging on the door. "I have to be at work in an hour!"

"Tough shit!" Mark groaned and padded into the kitchen to take his medication.

"Women," he muttered.

"I don't know how you guys can function this early in the day," Roger said. "I'm not usually up for hours."

"Then why are you up now?"

"Maureen was gonna eat the last of the Captain Crunch - which you better not touch!"

"Alright, alright! Sheesh." Mark took his pill and sat down on the couch next to Roger. "Do you and Maureen ever talk?"

Roger made a face. "Not really, why?"

"Because ever since we... you know..." Mark's face was bright red.

"Fucked?" Roger supplied.

"Yeah, that. Ever since then, she's been avoiding me. Last night, she came in at one in the morning saying that she had a late shift at the Life, but she was covered in sweat. I feel like she's lying to me, but... I don't know." If there was anything Roger remembered about Maureen and Mark's relationship, it was Mark's inability to admit Maureen was a cheater. Whenever she'd come home drenched in sweat, Roger automatically knew she'd been sleeping with someone else. Mark was clueless, or in denial. So when Maureen snuck in the front door at one in the morning sweaty, Roger knew. He didn't even have to ask to know it was Joanne either. It was only a matter of time.

"I heard the hours there suck," Roger said. "I wouldn't be surprised if that manager was trying to make her stay twenty-four-seven."

"Maybe," Mark said quietly.

"Marky, I'm done now," Maureen announced as she came out of the bathroom. "Do your think, Pookie."

"Thanks." Mark gave Maureen a kiss before locking himself in the bathroom. Maureen immediately jumped onto the couch next to Roger.

"I'm pregnant," she blurted in a whisper.

"Congrats!" Roger cried.

"Shh!" Maureen clamped her hand over his mouth. "It's a bad thing?"

"Mmm hmph?" Roger removed the pale hand away before repeating, "It is?"

"Yes!" the diva hissed. "Last night, I went to Joanne's, and she fucked my brains out! And now I'm pregnant! How am I supposed to explain any of this to her, or Mark. Oh god." Always the histrionic person, she laid across Roger's lap and pretended she had collapsed. "My life is a corny movie!"

"There there," Roger tried coaxing, petting her dark curls. "You'll figure out something." He knew exactly what would happen: Joanne would say that she already knew, Maureen wouldn't tell either of her lovers anything, and Mark would live in denial until his heart was broken in half again.

* * *

When the bell rang to signal the end of the class, Angelo let out a groan. His head was still rattling from the hangover he'd woken up with. The lightweight was spent the past few days drinking, either with Maureen or Mikayla, and he'd wake up with a migraine and no way of curing it. He was sensitive to any sound made, so when Maureen tapped his desk to get his attention, he spazzed, accidentally knocking a book out of the diva's grasp.

"Jeez, what's with you?" Maureen asked. "You're acting really weird."

"It's nothing," Angelo lied. He picked up his books and made his way to the exit before a whistle caught his attention.

"Angelo, I need to speak to you," Collins called out. Angelo was scared the second his named was spoken. He grabbed Maureen's hand and forced her to follow him to the professor's desk.

"Yes, Professor Collins?" he asked meekly.

"I noticed that you had your head down the entire time," the professor said. "Did you come to my class with a hangover?"

Angelo didn't want to lie. "Yes, sir."

"Here." Collins reached into his desk and pulled out a bottle of aspirin. "Might help that headache."

"Thanks." Angelo accepted the medicine and hoped he wasn't being drugged and then find out hours later he was tied to a bed in a dark room.

"Um, Professor Collins, can I ask you a question?" Maureen asked.

"Shoot."

"So say we both slept with the person recently." Angelo choked on the water he'd been drinking.

"How blunt," Collins said.

"You fucked Mark?!" Angelo exclaimed.

"No, he didn't fuck Marky... Wait, did you?" Maureen gave Collins a questioning look, and he started laughing.

"Oh, god, I'd never sleep with Mark!" he cackled. "But I know who she means. I'll guess that this person happens to be traumatized?"

"According to Roger, she is, and she realized this before she tried sleeping with him."

"You have some really colorful friends," Angelo remarked. "But you cheated on Mark? Didn't you guys just get married?"

"And we're having a baby!" Maureen rubbed her flat stomach for emphasis.

"I'm not even gonna ask anything else." Angel grabbed Maureen's hand. "Come on, we have work in a couple of hours."

"Bye Collins!" Maureen called out as she was dragged off.

"See you, Mo," Collins replied. "And see you tomorrow, Angel." A shiver went down Angelo's spine at the mention of the professor's nickname for him. He didn't like it one bit.


	17. Chapter 17

Maureen sat on the couch, wringing her hands together. Mark was currently at work, and he was trying to talk to her for the past few days while she'd been avoiding him. She had to tell him the truth. That she was meant to be with Joanne, not Mark. That her getting pregnant shouldn't have happened. In fact, she was so distraught that she was talking about it with the last person she'd ever willingly ask for advice from - Roger.

"Just tell him you're a lesbian," was his advice.

Maureen groaned and punched his shoulder. "You're absolutely no help," she whined. "This is why I was with Mark instead of you."

"But what about that one time-"

"You swore that you'd never bring that up!"

"Fine." They sat in silence for a few minutes before Roger hesitantly put his hand on Maureen's belly. "So how long until you get fat?" he asked.

"Wow, you really know how to make a woman feel special," Maureen said before punching Roger's shoulder. The rocker winced and rubbed the area where he was hit.

"I was just wondering, since you're obviously not going to tell Mark that he knocked you up."

"Roger, it's already bad enough that I might have HIV. Don't make me more stressed."

"You're the one who's doing this to yourself!"

"Don't blame me!"

"Are you kidding? Everything that you're yelling at me about is all your fault!"

"God damn, Roger, this is why we're always fighting!"

The phone started ringing, interrupting their argument.

"_Speeaaak!_"

Roger laughed. "You and Mark didn't..."

Maureen had to giggle. "We did." Their feud was long forgotten and they were too busy cracking up to hear Mark saying he was on his way up. When he did walk through the door, he raised an eyebrow at his wife and roommate.

"What's so hilarious?" he asked.

"N-nothing, Pookie," Maureen answered as she tried to stop herself from laughing.

"Oh, well don't forget you have work in an hour."

"Okay." Maureen bit her lip and looked at Roger. The songwriter nodded. "Marky," she said, "What if there were two people who weren't supposed to be together, but then something happened?"

Mark put him camera on the metal table and looked through his bag for his AZT. "Then I feel bad for the couple." Roger cringed. This falling out between them was going to be worse than the first time.

"But add a third party into the situation," Maureen continued. "Where do the first two go from there?"

"For the love of God, please don't tell me that there's something going on between you and Roger," Mark said.

Maureen ran into the bathroom and began throwing up.

Mark began laughing. "Damn, I didn't think you grossed her out that much," he cracked.

"Yeah, I guess so," Roger muttered. He knew it was morning sickness, but it wasn't his place to tell Mark. Soon, Maureen reappeared.

"First off, no way in _hell_ would I ever be with Roger," she said.

"Haven't you already offended me enough?" the rocker whined.

"Second, it's..." Nope, she was going to chicken out. Now wasn't the right time to tell Mark. So, being Maureen, she came up with something on the spot. "Angelo!"

"Uh, what about him?" Mark asked.

"So you know his girlfriend, Mikayla, right?" Now Roger felt queasy. He prayed that Maureen was lying. No way could he deal with Mimi sleeping with Angel - actually, Mimi and Angel wouldn't even be able to deal with that.

"I didn't know they were dating," Mark said.

"Yeah, they're always whispering dirty things in each other's ears," Maureen confirmed. "Anyway, Angelo thinks he's gay now, 'cause he _totally_ has a thing for our Philosophy professor."

"Professor Collins?"

"Yeah, that guy. And Angelo is such a sweetie, he doesn't want to break poor Mikayla's heart. But him and Collins... that's happening. They've already done it, too. In Collins office."

"Maureen, why are you telling me this?"

"I was just wondering, how would you tell Angelo to break it off with his girlfriend so he can be teacher's fucktoy?"

Mark shook his head. He loved how... indiscreet Maureen's mouth - and sometimes her mind, too - could be. "I'd just let him figure that one out on his own," he said. "He's fucked, and so is Mikayla." He headed to his room, mumbling, "Angelo and Professor Collins? Didn't see that one coming."

"Crap," Maureen hissed. "Now I gotta figure out another way to tell him."

"Maureen, please tell me that Angel and Mimi aren't..." Roger couldn't finish the sentence. Finishing it made it seem all too real.

Maureen grinned. "I dunno. Maybe."

"_Maureen!_"

* * *

Collins had always been the heartbreaker in relationships. When he got HIV from his ex, he'd cussed him out for five minutes before leaving the boy crying on the ground. His first and only girlfriend didn't take it too well when he explained that he was gay. Here, his students were always thrown out in the middle of the night, sometimes without being fully dressed. He'd done it all... except having to apologize to a lesbian lawyer for something he couldn't very well control. He didn't know how Joanne would take it, but if Maureen's description of how she acted at home was true, then there was a distinct possibility of him walking away with a few bruises. So he bought Joanne flowers from a street vendor before going to her apartment. He knocked on the door and waited for the lawyer to open her door. When she did, he almost bolted. But he kept his cool and held out the flowers.

"Hello, Joanne," he greeted. Joanne smiled and accepted her gift.

"Long time, no see," she said. She stepped back and opened the door wider for Collins to walk in. He went into the kitchen and stood by while Joanne found a vase for her flowers.

"How've you been?" he asked. So far, so good, and no bruises yet.

"Busy, but otherwise fine," Joanne answered. "And you?"

"Well, I haven't been fired from my teaching job yet." He let out a nervous laugh. Joanne giggled as well.

"Don't tell me you reprogrammed the computers at NYU too," she teased. "I don't think they'd appreciate any Actual Reality propaganda being advertised on their computers."

"Well, probably not, but..." It dawned on Collins. "Did you just mention Actual Reality?"

"Well, isn't that how you got kicked out of MIT?"

"But I never went to MIT."

"Yes, you did." Joanne turned around and smiled. "Angel told us that when we went to the Life Café after Maureen's protest."

"Holy shit girl, you remembered!" Collins picked up the lawyer and spun her around. "You remembered! Finally!" He put her down. "Damn, I thought you were gonna knock me out or something."

"Yeah, I wanted to," Joanne said. "But after Maureen came by last night, I decided against it."

"You two, I swear..." he laughed. "Come on, we're gonna go celebrate. The Life Café. My treat!"

"Are you sure?" Joanne asked as she grabbed her coat.

"I'm gonna be drinking. Trust me, you'll want me to pay!" The duo linked arms and left the apartment.

* * *

Angelo loved Maureen, he really did. After Mimi, she was his best friend. But when they were at work together, it took all of his strength not to shoot her.

"You take table seven!" he cried.

"No, you take table seven!" Maureen whined.

"It's in your section!"

"Well I don't want it."

"Professor Collins is over there!"

"And the girl who him and I both fucked it also over there!"

"Language!" He quickly turned to apologize to a nearby table, a family with two kids under the age of ten.

"_Fine_," Maureen huffed before returning to her job.

Angelo sighed and went up to the manager. "I'm taking my break," he said, exasperated. He spotted Mikayla sitting at the bar and plopped down on the stool next to her. "_Hola_," he greeted.

"_Paraces agotado_," Mikayla said. (_You sound exhausted_.)

"_Todavía estoy resaca,_" Angelo groaned. (_I'm still hungover_.)

"_Yo también. Ni siquiera puerdo recordar lo que sucedió la noche anterior_." (_Me too. I can't even remember what happened last night_.)

"_Todo lo que recuerdo es que Kirsten salir del apartamento cuando me desperté_." (_All I can remember is Kirsten leaving the apartment when I woke up_.) Both Mikayla and Angelo weren't good when it came to drinking. It only took a couple of beers to get them buzzed, and then they'd be drunk halfway through their fourth.

"Angelo, break's over," the manager said. "You're needed at table ten."

"_Adiós_," Angelo told Mikayla before heading to table ten. He saw Mark and Roger sitting there, both looking bored. "Hey guys," he greeted. "What can I get you?"

Roger looked between Angelo and Mikayla. Mark stared at Angelo and saw Collins out of the corner of his eye. Both boys shared a glance before saying simultaneously, "Beer."


	18. Chapter 18

The Man was right. All Mikayla had to say was his name and the manager gave her the opening act. She could barely understand anything he was babbling, but one of the other girls explained it. Something to do with handcuffs and a lawn chair and iced tea. None of it added up, but Mikayla accepted the job and learned the routine. The other girls were really helpful too. They showed her the ropes and techniques to getting around the Cat Scratch, how to get men to give her more money, and which men to avoid. Mikayla nodded at these rules and got dressed. She felt uncomfortable in these clothes, or lack of. She had constant wedgies and tried not to accidentally flash any of the other dancers.

Around ten, it was show time. Mikayla peeked through the curtains at the crowd - mostly businessmen. She wasn't used to seeing people dressed in clothes that were tattered or stained, or even wearing clothes sometimes. In their hands were several green bills. Mikayla gulped. She was degrading herself even lower than before. These men would be reaching out for her, leering at her, drooling over her. Why did The Man tell her to do this?

The bass thumps, making the floor vibrate. something said in another language echoes around her. Two of the girls lead Mikayla out on stage. The men whistle and hoot and holler. She's led out to a lawn chair. The girls handcuff her to the chair. Mikayla panics on the inside. What was she supposed to do? One hour wasn't enough time to learn a whole routine! She slowly tries remembering. She puts her leg up in the air and spreads them apart.

Something does come to mind, but it's not what she expected.

_Being born into a family of whore parents._

_Getting to second base at age nine._

_Giving head the first time at age ten._

_Losing her virginity on her twelfth birthday._

_Trying drugs for the first time at age fifteen._

_Landing in rehab at seventeen._

_Finding out she was HIV positive._

_Her mother coddling her constantly._

_Running away to New York._

_Moving in with a drag queen she'd met._

_Applying for a job at the Cat Scratch Club._

_And then getting the job after sleeping with the owner._

_Sleeping with Benny when she couldn't pay the rent._

_Continuing to see him and use him until she found out about Alison._

_Longing for the man who lived above her._

_Waiting until Christmas Eve to seduce him._

_Losing her stash in his apartment._

_Stealing it back while finding out his name - Roger._

_Coming back later to get Roger and get high._

_Being rejected harshly._

_Trying to find The Man._

_Instead found by Roger._

_Invited to Maureen's show and dinner afterwards._

_Watching Maureen's show._

_Going to the Life Café._

_Trying to find out why Roger was giving her the cold shoulder after chasing Benny out of the Life._

_Finding out that he was positive too._

_Confessing her love to him._

_Kissing him with the police sirens glowing in the background._

_Breaking back into the building._

_Trying to defend herself after Benny reveals their relationship to her friends._

_Buying more drugs from The Man._

_Roger moving in to her apartment._

_Lying to Roger about drugs and Benny._

_Fighting with Roger about Benny._

_Finally breaking up with Roger on his birthday._

_Finding out Angel was gone._

_Angel's funeral._

_Fighting with Roger and watching him go away._

_Trying to avoid going to rehab, something that Mark makes her do anyway._

_Escaping from rehab and running into The Man's arms._

_Not knowing exactly what was going on, only passing out._

_Waking up in Joanne and Maureen's arms._

_Being carried into the loft and holding Roger._

_Listening to the song he wrote for her._

_Kissing him one last time before dying in his arms._

_Seeing Angel._

_Coming back to life._

_Singing, "No day but today"._

Suddenly, she could remember everything. That included the rest of her dance. She finished with ease and ran offstage (after collecting at least two thousand dollars from her perverted audience). She changed back into her regular clothes and went outside. How could she not see? All along, she wasn't really Mikayla, the lost little Latina who was dealing drugs. She was Mimi Marquez. She was a nineteen-year-old HIV-positive (well, technically, not now) drug-addicted S&M dancer who was in love with Roger Davis.

"Mikayla!" Mimi turned around to see Benny walking toward her. "Mikayla, I know you're probably still pissed about what happened, but I need to let you know that-" Mimi threw her arms around Benny. The dumbfounded yuppie was at a loss.

"I remember," she cried into his shoulder. "I remember everything."

The fact that she could speak English let Benny know just that.

* * *

"Marky, hurry up!" Roger heard Maureen whine. "I wanna get to the Life before it closes! I really want a sundae right now!"

"In a minute, Mo!" Mark called from the bedroom.

Maureen groaned and sat next to Roger on the couch. "He's so slow sometimes!"

"Coming from the girl who takes an hour to pick out just a shirt?" Roger snorted.

"Shut up, Roger." She pushed him. "Go check on Marky and see what's keeping him up."

"Fine." Roger stood up and went into Mark's room without knocking. It's not like he hadn't seen Mark naked before. "Mark, Maureen is bugging me to make you hurry up..." Roger froze when he saw Mark.

"Roger! Shit!" Mark grabbed his scarf and quickly wrapped it around his own neck. "Knock, jeez!" He kept his back to Roger, praying the guitarist would go away. If he'd known better, than he wouldn't expect Roger to let this go.

"Mark, what is that on your neck?" Roger asked.

"Um, a hickey?"

"You're a shitty liar. Tell me the truth."

"No!"

Roger lunged and Mark and tried to pry off the beloved scarf. Mark, however, was keeping a tight grip on it. The two boys rolled around on the bed, then on the floor, for what seemed like the longest time before Roger had Mark pinned.

"Aha, I got you now," Roger said triumphantly.

"Congrats," Mark spat.

The two grew solemn quickly. Roger slowly unravelled the fabric covering Mark's neck and prepared himself for what he was about to see. After it came off, Roger gasped. On Mark's neck was a bruise. And not just any bruise. A lesion. Roger ran his fingers lightly over it. This was surreal. Never had Roger expected to see lesions on Mark. He was the one to survive.

"Your first lesion," Roger said quietly.

Mark took a deep breath. "Please don't tell Maureen," he pleaded. "She can't know. It'll only make matters worse."

"Mark, you're dying. How much worse can it..." He thought carefully about what Mark said. A melodramatic, over-the-top Maureen is the one thing that can make any situation worse. "Point taken. I won't tell her anything." Roger climbed off of Mark and helped him up. "But you know that she's going to catch on eventually."

"I know," Mark said as he rewrapped the scarf around his neck. "But for now she's more worried about the possibility of herself getting HIV. And if she does..." Mark shook his head. "I won't be able to forgive myself." With that, Mark grabbed his camera and headed toward the door.

"Mark, wait!" Roger called out. Mark turned around. "Wear a turtleneck. Maureen might take off your scarf. It'll be easier to hide it that way." Roger didn't say that he was planning on doing just that when any lesions formed on his neck.

"Thanks." Mark smiled weakly and changed. Roger stared at his best friend, biting his lip and trying not to cry. Mark couldn't die. It just wouldn't be right for Mark to die.

Roger didn't have work tonight. He waited for Mark and Maureen to leave before he took out his guitar. He didn't want to play in front of them for some reason he wasn't even sure of. Maybe it was out of embarrassment because he would only play one tune - Your Eyes. He had himself convinced that playing this song enough would cause Mimi to crawl through the window and kiss him like the day they'd met. But to Roger, that was just a dream.

Suddenly he felt the brisk late September wind blowing through the loft. Before he had time to react, his guitar was yanked from his grasp and Mimi was on his than push her off, this time he let her.


	19. Chapter 19

If he had the heart to do to New York what he'd done to Benny's face, Angelo would have murdered half of the Lower East Side by now. Everything in the universe seemed to be working against him. Mikayla had been sneaking around behind his back late at night, doing who knows what. Benny was his landlord. Maureen was always sick at work thanks to her pregnancy, which she threatened Angelo not to tell a completely clueless Mark. And, even better, fucking Professor Collins was _everywhere_ he was. He can't count the number of times he saw his professor sitting at the Life Café recently, whether it be alone or with someone he knew. This was too much for him. Thankfully, he was able to convince Maureen to fork over a bottle of vodka from her apartment (not like she had any good use for it nowadays) and was wasted shortly thereafter.

His head shot up from the couch when Mimi walked into the apartment.

"_Oh, hola, Mikayla,_" he greeted his friend, his speech slightly slurred. "_¿Dónde has estado?_" (_Where have you been?_)

"I was upstairs with that new neighbor," Mimi replied. "You know, that bartender, Roger? He's an _amazing_ kisser!" Mimi giggled before waltzing into the bathroom.

Wait, did she just speak English? Angelo sat up. No way was he this drunk.

"_¿Has estado con Roger?_" he asked. (_You've been with Roger?_) He needed to make sure he was hearing the right language.

"Yep. We had this connection that just sparked in me, so I went to visit him and it just... it all happened so fast," Mimi continued. She sighed dreamily.

"Mikayla, since when do you know English?" Angelo asked slowly.

"Angel, I've known English since I met you, sweetie. Remember? That skinhead was bothering you, and oh, did you tell him what was up!" Mimi looked at Angelo's reflection in the mirror. He had a mixture of pain and confusion painted on his face. "Angel, what's wrong?"

"What did you just call me?" Angelo asked. This situation was getting bad really fast.

"Angel. You know, your name?"

"My name is Angelo, not Angel," the Latino said. "Where the hell did you get Angel from?"

"Sweetie, everyone calls you Angel." Mimi thought for a second before adding, "Well, sometimes Collins has this cute little nickname for you. Angelcake. Ha, who knew he was such a softie, right?"

_Collins_. Of course! Angelo should've known his stalkeresque professor was behind this. But how could he possibly have gotten to Mikayla?

"Mikayla, I need to know what the hell is going on with you," Angelo said slowly.

"Why are you calling me Mikayla?" Mimi asked. "Only my mother calls me that, and I haven't seen her since I became an S&M dancer."

"You became a _what?!_"

"Angel, seriously, you need to calm yourself, okay?" Mimi skipped by her friend, pausing to kiss his cheek. "I'm spending the night at Roger's after work. Bye!"

Angelo fainted.

* * *

Maureen wrung her hands. This was it. She couldn't hide her pregnancy from Mark anymore. He hadn't thought twice about her constant puking or her random cravings for food they couldn't afford. She waited impatiently for her husband. Without thinking, she twisted her wedding band around her finger. She soon stopped.

"Oh shit, I recognize that face," Roger said as he entered the room with Collins and Mimi in tow. "That's a classic Maureen face."

"Shut up, Roger," Maureen growled.

"I know it too," Mimi said. "She had that same look when Joanne found out about that time she visited me at work."

"And the woman in rubber incident, _that_ was a classic," Collins added.

"Guys, please, don't do this," Maureen pleaded.

"And the night when Maureen came clean about Joanne!" Roger exclaimed. He was the only one who was laughing. Mimi and Collins' eyes widened. The musician noticed the others' expressions and quickly caught on. "Fuck, you're telling him about her."

"I need to. I mean, he hasn't even caught on about the possibility of me being pregnant, let alone me sneaking around! Oh, God, this is gonna be a disaster."

"Hey, you weren't the one who was around when he was crying himself to sleep. I swear, one night he tried writing poetry about you."

The front door opened. Everyone froze as Mark entered the loft. "Mo, Roger, I'm home!" he announced. "And I brought booze - hey, it's Mimi from downstairs!"

Mimi waved nervously. "_Hola, Mark_," she greeted.

"And Maureen, why is our professor at our house?"

"Uh, didn't you know that Tommy-boy and I are old high school pals?" Roger lied.

"I told you that I was gonna kick your ass the next time you called me that," Collins hissed.

"So, what's everyone looking at me funny for? I got us some vodka! Who wants to do shots?" Mark asked. He held the bottle out to Maureen. "You wanna start us off, baby?"

"No thanks, Pookie, I'm not in the mood to drink," Maureen said solemnly. Roger and Collins shared a look. "Pookie" was only spoken when Maureen _really_ screwed up.

"What're you talking about? You're always in the mood to drink!"

Maureen cleared her throat. "You guys mind leaving?" The second the words left her mouth, Roger, Collins, and Mimi bolted out of the loft, leaving behind a very awkward silence between the married couple.

"Mo, you're acting really weird," Mark said. "What the hell is going on?"

Maureen bit her lip. "Pookie, there's something I need to tell you, and I don't know how you're gonna take it, either..."

Mark sat down, his smile quickly fading. He was too afraid to find out what this was about. He couldn't even look her in the eye anymore.

"Mark, do you remember that lawyer you interviewed recently?" the brunette began.

Her husband nodded. "One of my personal favorites, if you ask me. So mature and honest."

"Yeah, she is. Joanne, as it turns out, is an old friend of mine from way back when."

"What are you talking about?" Mark asked. "I've known you my whole life, and never once did you mention a lawyer named Joanne. How do you know her?"

Oh shit. This was the moment. "Well, we were very close with each other... A little _too_ close to be just friends."

Two plus two still didn't add up in Mark's head. "I don't understand."

Tears clouded over Maureen's vision. This was much harder than the first time. "Mark, Joanne and I are together," she blurted, unable to hold back any more emotion. She watched Mark's expression change from confusion to hurt.

"Y-you cheated on me?" he asked, his voice shaking. "How could you? After all we've been through? Goddamnit, Mo, we got _married_! When did you make this decision to become a lesbian?"

"I don't know, I guess I always have been," Maureen sobbed. "I swear, Mark, I didn't mean for any-"

"I think you need to leave now," Mark suggested coolly. Before Maureen could protest, he added, "I don't think I'll ever be able to look at you the same way again." With that, he stalked off to the bedroom, letting out a furious scream once the door was shut.

Maureen ran out of the loft and slammed the door behind her. She leaned against the wall and tried her hardest to twist off her wedding band. After a minute of getting nowhere, it flew off and tumbled down the stairs. Maureen let it and began to cry hysterically.

* * *

"Now, here's a sight I thought I'd never live to see again," Collins said as he downed his fourth shot. "Roger actually has a job."

"I don't think I remember Roger ever working either," Mimi agreed with a buzzed giggle.

"Someone had to help pay the bills around the loft," Roger grumbled as he poured another round for his friends. "And you act like I'm the only one who does. Maureen and Mark have jobs too."

"Maureen had a job when Angel was sick, and Mark made films that people actually paid to see," Collins pointed out. "You were just a lazy ass."

"Keep that up and your drink might 'accidentally' get spiked." Roger turned his attention over to Mimi. "So, does Angel know yet?"

The dancer shook her head and bit a wedge of lime. "I forgot that I didn't know any English. I think I gave him a heart attack when I came into the apartment without uttering a word in Spanish. It was like that time when I walked in on him and Collins-"

Collins' hand quickly flew to Mimi's mouth. "You swore we'd never bring that up again," he growled.

Roger grinned. "What's this about?" he asked, enjoying the glare he was receiving from the anarchist.

"Trust me, you don't want to know," Maureen answered as she sat down next to Mimi.

"Oh, honey, how'd it go?" the dancer asked.

"Let's just say I might end up crashing at your place for now."

"I'm sorry..."

"Don't be." Maureen looked at her friends before shutting her eyes and putting her head on the counter. "I just wish that he knew so he wouldn't be so damn hurt all the time."

Collins slammed his shot glass on the counter. "That's just it," he says. "Right now, Angel and Mark are gonna beat themselves up over how screwy everything's gone. Well, we're not waiting for them to remember on their own like we did. We're gonna _make_ them remember us."

"And how do we do that?" Roger asked.

"You guys just come to mine and Angel's place tomorrow morning. And bring Benny and Joanne with you. We'll need the whole family to help bring us all back together."


End file.
